


Finding Truth in Lies

by Malind



Category: Final Fantasy X
Genre: Angst, Discrimination, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2014-12-03
Packaged: 2018-05-14 06:02:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5732026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Malind/pseuds/Malind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A summoner grapples with fate and what's expected of him, his heart and mind eventually seeing only the man before him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Truth in Lies

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this over about a 9 year period of time, from 2002 to 2011, I believe. This story has 13 chapters.
> 
> Disclaimer: The Final Fantasy X universe and characters are owned by Square Enix. I make no profit from this fanfiction.

**Chapter 1: Death is the Beginning**

 

"Being what he is, the people will never accept him otherwise. A life should mean something. I want our son's life to mean something."

Sitting in the hallway next to the cracked-open door, the boy yanked at the strands of the finely woven rug as his back pressed solidly against the wall. He wished he could melt into the solid surface and be lost forever. Eyes squeezed shut to block more tears, he struggled to understand why his father believed that his life meant nothing now.

"But he's only twelve years old! You would have our child die for nothing? The summoners never come back, and Sin always comes back," his mother said coarsely.

The sound, of agitated rustling from his mother's gown, tickled his ears. Seymour forced his attention to stop from latching onto that distraction. No matter how much the words hurt, the three people's conversation mattered too much. After all, they were deciding the rest of his life.

"Your son may be the exception, my Lady. Imagine: the one who saves all of Spira comes back and assumes the title of Maester to rule all under his graciousness. Both Guado and human would revere him." Tromell's voice rumbled to a stop, as the man paused for a moment seemingly to gather his thoughts.

Seymour held his breath. The worst was surely yet to come. Over the years, he'd recognized the influence Tromell had over his parents. His father listened to this man more than he did his own son, making the boy's resentment run deep.

To him, it was obvious that Tromell wanted power. His father's power. But his parents seemed oblivious of that fact.

"Is that not the reason for your marriage? To bridge the gap between Guado and humans? Do you not see that this boy is the key?" Tromell cleared his throat. "And there is the other matter of your health to consider."

"Enough!" A hard fist slammed onto the conference table, making the boy's body jerk. His voice nearly abrasive, Jescal then muttered, "This is getting us nowhere. We will sleep on it tonight, and then we will-"

His father stopped in mid-sentence. The seconds passed. Too curious now, Seymour twisted around to peer through the crack and bit his bottom lip. His mother sat with a hand over her husband's. The dark circles under her eyes contrasted with the paleness of her skin. Her every breath was a struggle. No matter how much she battled to hide it, the boy knew his mother was dying. Guado blood flowing through his veins, he could smell the terrible scent on her. The sickness had been eating at her body for months, but there wasn't a thing anyone could do to heal her. He couldn't save her any more than he could save himself.

Standing up, she rested her hands on the table and murmured, "You're right. I don't have much time left. My only concern is that he is so young, but if he can bring peace to Spira... If this is the only way he will be accepted, then I'll take him myself."

"Mother," the boy whispered.

Silence. Seymour couldn't let his breath go.

Heavy footstep sounded as someone walked towards him. The door swung open. The boy scrambled to retreat into the shadows, but cold eyes laid their gaze on him. He froze. A slow smile developed on the bearded face. Tromell closed the door behind himself and crouched down. Seymour struggled to get away, but only managed to corner himself between a table and the wall. His heart thudded in his chest. Wild eyes darted over every cold feature. He hated this man.

"Heard everything, did you, my boy?" A rough hand reached out and wiped at the line of a tear already spent. The blue-haired boy cringed. "You are to be the hope for Spira. The one who will bring the Guado race to power. I pray to Yevon that you are successful. But if not, I am sure we will manage."

The same hard hand pat his cheek a couple of times before Tromell stood up and walked down the hallway. The boy stumbled to his feet and ran in the opposite direction.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

Seymour brushed at the lock of blue hair blocking his view. A slim hand grabbed his small one and pulled him into an embrace.

"Don't play with it," the woman softly chided.

His mother's warm body against his back brought him a little comfort as he searched over the ruins with his eyes. Whatever rumors or thoughts he might have had were instantly confirmed or destroyed with the sight of the dilapidated structures that had been Zanarkand. A breeze brought up the ancient, as well as the new smell of death. He trembled. Still standing solidly against him, he knew it was a scent his human mother couldn't detect.

Time passed as they merely stared out to the horizon. Both knew that this was the end of their journey, although neither truly knew what to expect. The only chance of peace for Spira dwelled within Zanarkand. Peace from his death.

A whisper on the wind, his mother said, "I never expected it to be so... large."

Seymour brought up his other hand and laid it over his mother's. "Do you think Father told the truth and there is no Final Summoning?"

"If your father told you this, then it must be true. But not to worry. We will find a way." She leaned over and planted a kiss on his cheek, then continued down the trail. The boy watched after her as she shrugged at the weight of the crossbow on her back. He then ran after her to fulfill his destiny. Not that he had a choice in the matter.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

Pyreflies had always been a familiar sight, but seeing so many of them in one place was horrifying. This place was only filled with death. Seymour couldn't help but wonder how so much death could be the only hope for bringing about peace. Beyond the swarm, a woman stood on the top of the steps.

"I congratulate you, Summoner. You have completed your pilgrimage. I will now bestow you with that which you seek. There is nothing to fear, for once you call forth the Final Aeon, your life will end. You will be freed of worry and pain. Death is the ultimate and final liberation."

Without warning, his mother released his hand and stepped forward, bowing to the dead woman. "Please, make me the Final Aeon. Together my son and I will defeat Sin. Perhaps he is strong enough. Yevon allowing, perhaps Seymour will not be conquered as well."

"The bond between you is strong. Surely its light will conquer Sin, but the Final Summoning draws its strength from the summoner. Your son's death will bring peace. He is the one who will bring hope to all of Spira." Yunalesca said, raising her hands as if to encompass the other woman. "Every Aeon that defeats it becomes Sin in its place, and thus Sin is reborn and new summoner will be called forth. Sin is eternal."

The words echoed through the entire chamber as Yunalesca lowered her arms to hover at her sides. -This- his father hadn't told him. Sin was the Final Aeon? The boy knew his mouth gaped open but couldn't manage to close it. This couldn't be right. There had to be a mistake. Nonetheless, even through his denial, it all suddenly made sense: why Sin always came back, Spira's never ending punishment.

Not for the first time, he seriously contemplated running, but the coldness in the Yunalesca's eyes diminished the idea. He realized that if he refused to finish what had been started, they would not leave this place alive. The revelation wasn't surprising. No summoners ever came back. The secret was safe as long as that fact held. Remembering his father's odd tension before the pilgrimage, he also knew at that moment that his father had always known this truth, and had willingly placed them both in this position. In walking into this room, their fate had been sealed.

His mind scrambled to find a way out, a way to save his mother's life, but knew it was futile. Then he frowned. But maybe he could bend their fate. As his father had unwittingly proven to him, it was possible to stretch the truth a bit to get what he wanted.

Seymour took a step forward. "My lady, I wish to bring Spira its hope, but it was under treachery that we were brought before you. Allow me to avenge my Mother and myself. In exchange, I will continue the teachings of Yevon, which my Father brought to the Guado. I will tell all of Spira of your mercy. All Guado and humans will worship you, as it should be. After all, you are the one who brings Spira hope." His hard lips stretched into a painful grin, and he bowed to hide the expression.

If the life of privilege had taught him nothing else, he knew that vanity was the most powerful weapon. It brought countries to war with each other. It brought about death from the slightest of betrayals. It made people throw away logic and regress to the most basic of instincts.

Seymour had seen his father use the egotistical trait to his advantage more than once. He knew that vanity was the single tool he could use to exploit a woman who had spent the last thousand years locked away in a decaying city.

"And when I've accomplished this, I will return and defeat Sin, and all will know that it was under your grace that I did so."

The room was silent except for the slight buzz of pyreflies. He held his body in the bow until he heard the woman speak.

"I feel the darkness in your heart." Seymour jerked his head up to meet her gaze. "If revenge is only what you seek, then so be it. When you are liberated, when you have become the liberator for all of Spira, you will conquer Sin."

Beside him, his mother screamed. Seymour whipped around. Never before had he seen something so horrifying. He realized then that he had made an unforgivable mistake.

Death was better.

 

 

**Chapter 2: First and Second Encounters**

 

 

~~~ Four years later ~~~

A single loud knock on the hardwood door echoed in the small library. Cringing from the pain of stiff muscles, Seymour straightened out his back that had been hunched over as his eyes had devoured yet another book. He slammed the book shut and tossed it gracefully onto a pile beside his chair.

"Come."

A young Guado silently entered the room. Seymour watched observant eyes draw in the layers of de-shelved books and what he was sure was an extremely tired looking half-Guado. After a weak sigh, the other man murmured, "My Lord, the summoner has just arrived. She has confirmed that all of Baaj Temple has been destroyed by Sin. By Yevon's grace, you were one of the few survivors and all of the dead have been sent."

The blue-haired man rubbed at his eyes. "And I should have been the one to send them."

"Perhaps, but your father was quite stern about you seeking refuge in Bevelle. Since your mother-" Seymour cringed and Bannon silenced that line of words. "And since your father has chosen not to remarry, you -are- his successor."

Seymour snorted. His friend had never been good at making him feel better... well, his mind, anyway. His body was a different story.

The Guado sighed again. "You are much more than merely a summoner. Don't forget."

"As if I could forget. And the Chamber of the Fayth?" As he rubbed the bareness of his chest, the place where his mother's soul had entered his body, he knew there was no reason to ask. His mother was still with him. She lived inside of him and gave him the strength to live on. He would avenge her, but anyone could seek revenge through brutality. A more satisfying punishment was the one that destroyed the traitor's very soul. He was as patient as she had always been. At least, that was what he told himself.

"The Chamber of the Fayth is secure." The Guado gestured to a chair, and Seymour gave him a weak smile and a nod. After settling down, Bannon informed his friend quietly, "The council has already decided that a reconstruction project is impossible. You will not be allowed to return."

Seymour burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. "First I am exiled to the Temple. Now I am not allowed to return? The will of my Father is horrendous."

Bannon grinned. "You don't know that half of it. Lord Jescal has officially made you a diplomat for the entire Guado race. You are to handle affairs both here in Bevelle and abroad. I guess he wants you to get acquainted with all of these improper wretches, since you -are- to rule the world one day."

The chuckles had been quickly squelched with the second sentence. Seymour was about to start laughing again, but realized that the other man was quite serious. A diplomat? He couldn't believe it. After his failure summoning the Final Aeon, and his mother's 'death' which he had never told a soul the truth about, Jescal had been reluctant to give his son a pot to piss in, let alone an actual job title.

"And it gets better, my Lord."

"Better, you say? What on Spira could possibly be better than weeks of discussing trade agreements?"

"Do you remember that daughter of the Priest on Baaj? The one unable to remember how her legs closed?" After a hesitant nod from Seymour, the man grinned. "Well, she is being betrothed to a warrior monk who resides here in Bevelle. Rumor has it that he is more curved than straight. Some would even say circular." A short laugh sputtered from Bannon's lips, most likely because of the tantalizing implications that Seymour couldn't help but let trickle into his own mind.

"And this would matter to me because..."

The devilish grin grew. "Well, since you -were- the Summoner of Baaj, and one of the few survivors, 'x' her father, it has been decided that it would be best if you were to present this arrangement to the monk. Auron is his name, I believe. In fact, he will most likely be promoted to second in command if everything goes well. But there is no need to fret over it too much." Bannon affectionately patted a fisted hand. "The man already knows about the arrangement. Thus, this is just more of a formality."

A soft finger reached up and stroked the line of Seymour's chin. The man leaned into the touch.

"And you truly need to take a hot bath and get yourself into bed. Have you even slept in the last four days?"

Seymour didn't bother shaking his head. The touch that progressed down the long line of his neck felt too good. His eyes fluttered shut. The slight scraping of nails across his chest drew out shivers. Two fingers wedged underneath the heavy fabric of his open shirt to tease a taunt nipple. Seymour moaned throatily.

Without warning, those fingers pinched aggressively.

"Ow!" The blue-haired man grabbed the hand and brought it up to his mouth to bite the tender flesh.

Bannon moaned and was obviously restraining himself as he rotated his hips on the seat. The teeth traveled down the delicious forearm before its owner ripped his arm away. Breathlessly, he murmured, "Go take a bath, 'my Lord', and rinse the stink off. You need sleep more than you need 'affection'. You are also going to need a new wardrobe." The Guado stood up with an obvious discomfort that centralized at his groin, and headed directly to the door. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Tease."

After a chuckle, the door to the private library was closed. The blue-haired man groaned, trying his best not to touch the hardness running down his leg. No, Bannon definitely didn't know how to comfort a person. But the man had been right about one thing. He needed a bath; steaming hot waters to take away the sudden memories of people's dying screams. Of his mother's screams.

"I should have defeated Sin in Baaj. Never mind my revenge. Innocent death is -not- what I had wanted. Nor what my Mother would have wanted."

Eating away at his mind was the dread that he had been the cause of the Temple's destruction, in his neglect of fulfilling a bargain. Perhaps Yunalesca was not as patient as he was. Never before had Sin attacked a Temple. The coincidence simply seemed too great for him to ignore, considering the Baaj Temple was where he had been living for the past four years. The very one were Yunalesca had caged his mother's soul.

The only thing that kept him from tracking down Sin and destroying it was the fact that Sin was Spira's punishment. Not Yunalesca's pet. The idea that she could control the beast in some way was absolutely absurd. Complete and utter nonsense.

"But then why can I not get the idea out of my head? Guilt maybe?"

Groaning, Seymour rubbed his hands over blood-shot eyes and cringed when he saw a vision of his mother's cursed form, of a terrible power he had yet to summon.

The man sighed out, "Yes, probably."

Hard-on long gone, Seymour shoved himself upright and stumbled a step before he could straighten himself, and rambled on to himself in his exhaustion, "But even if the Temple's destruction was some type of threat, and I had defeated Sin long before, my death would not have destroyed Sin. And Sin would now be my Mother."

He shook his head aggressively, not able to get rid of the damning screams. "But at least those people would be alive."

Ignoring the piles of misplaced books, he stalked out the room he had spent the last two days in, and down hallways and stairs, until he came to the public bath. The monks and summoners in Bevelle shared the same facility, but luckily as he noted when he swung the door open, no one was inside. It wasn't all that surprising considering the time of night though. He closed the door securely behind himself and walked over to the far wall.

Seymour unsheathed his dagger and put it between his teeth. Long fingers fumbled with the tie of his simple robe. Finally undone, the heavy cloth fell to the ground, as well as his wrap around shirt. He carelessly kicked them to the side. Tomorrow, those clothes would be in the garbage, and he could imagine his new wardrobe was going to be considerably more uncomfortable.

Tossing the dagger onto the pile, he walked the short distance to the shower and turned on only the hot water. The man scrubbed his skin thoroughly, relishing the pain of four-day old bruises that played across his back and legs. He had hid the bruises from the healers. He wanted to feel the pain to remind him of what had happened, to punish himself for surviving, but they would fade eventually. All that would be left were the screams. And he would still be alive. And they would still be dead.

Finally he dunked his head under the water. The styled locks of hair plastered themselves to his face and body. He scrubbed the soft hair, cringing slightly whenever his fingers touched the swelling on the side of his head.

Satisfied, he pushed the blue locks of soaked hair from his eyes and walked over to the large community tub, braiding the three sections behind his head as he went to keep them out of the way. He stepped down the stairs and took a seat on a cement slab on the opposite end. The water was wonderfully tepid. He sighed as the warm liquid lapped at the area just below his rib cage. The tub was obviously meant for humans that were generally shorter in stature, but he didn't let that bother him. The lapping water felt too good to complain about anything. And for just five minutes, he wanted his mind to melt away in the warmth.

A cool breeze hit his back as the bath's door was shoved open.

Seymour groaned, and mumbled, "That's what I get for asking."

Eyes closed, he tilted his head back until it rested on the cement ground. An odd metallic sound barely reached him, but he carelessly dismissed it. The rustling of fabric taunted him. Why couldn't the world just leave him alone for a little while, he uselessly pleaded in his mind, never mind his near seclusion in the study for two days. The shower was turned on again. He listened to the water lapping against the person's solid form. Curiosity was beginning to get the better of him, but he forced his eyes to remain closed. The water turned off. The padding of wet feet echoed in the large room. Water stirred, lapping against Seymour's chest once again, as the person stepped down into the pool. A contented sigh confirmed that the 'intruder' was male. Most likely human due to the severe lack of Guado in Bevelle. Anywhere, besides his home, for that matter.

Even the air seemed to close its mouth as the room became unbearably quiet. He could feel the man's eyes burning into him. He -hated- being around humans. A half-Guado and half-human, he'd never been truly accepted by either, but humans seemed to take his existence more personally. And not in a good way. Most looked at him as if he insulted Spira with his very existence. With these eyes on him, the same desire consumed him that he'd felt ever since he could remember: to be able to simply melt into the wall and be consumed by it forever.

"Do all Guado carry such impressive equipment, or were you just born lucky?"

Seymour flung his head up to stare at the man several meters in front of him. Dark smiling eyes were all he saw before he choked on his saliva and coughed for several agonizing moments, his face reddening. Finally able to control himself, but still unable to believe the words, he forced out, "Wh-what did you say?"

"The dagger laying on your clothes. I imagine it's a family heirloom."

Inky black hair framed an exquisite, but smirking face. Two eyes stared at him curiously, waiting for his reaction, clearly knowing what his original reaction had been. Seymour darted a glace to the dagger, before resting it back on the man before him. "Yes. Yes, it is. Guado take great pride in their heritage. The dagger was made by my great-great-great-grandfather and has been passed down the generations."

'Although I seriously believe my father wishes he hadn't been forced to give it to me,' the blue-haired man added in his mind.

The man leaned forward, cupping the water with two hands and letting it dribble though his fingers. Seymour sat there memorized by the simple action. "I suppose you don't remember me. I was there when you were brought into Bevelle. I was declared your official guardian/nursemaid until it was certain you would survive."

The blue-haired man frowned as he strained to recall what the man was talking about and the man himself. The first couple of days had been a blur. Wait, could this have been the man who had agreed to not tell the healers of his injuries? Yes, he was, Seymour was sure of it. Nodding slowly, he murmured, "Ah yes, I remember. Although you were a little more clothed then."

"As were you. Well, most of the time anyway."

Seymour raised his brows. This human was clearly flirting with him, and for the life of him, he couldn't imagine why. Humans did -not- flirt with him. Guados only did so to gain the favor of the leader's family, and the presumed future leader. And Bannon had been included in that circle in the beginning as well. His eyes narrowed. What could this man possibly hope to gain, he wondered with a growing suspicion.

Looking over the broad expanse of a scar-ridden chest, he also had to wonder why in the world this man would have been assigned to take care of him. Guardedly, he asked, "You're clearly not a healer. Why would they ask you to take care of me?"

"They didn't. I volunteered."

"Oh... Why?"

The man grinned again. "The Guado race has always interested me. Besides, before my inclusion in the warrior ranks, I was a healer. But I guess they thought my skills would be better used elsewhere. It's amazing how much you can forget with a few whacks on the head with a blunt object, but you're still alive, so I guess that's saying something."

Two well-muscled arms reached around to the back of the man's head, and flung long raven hair out of the tub and onto the cement behind him. Then he leaned back and let his eyes close.

Seymour stared on, unable to help himself. For a human, the man was beautiful. Long muscular legs stretched out, drawing his attention. He bit his bottom lip at the hardness there. He had never been with a human, but the possibilities were presenting themselves a little too obviously for him to ignore. He didn't think this man wanted him to ignore them either.

A grin of his own spread over his lips. Suspicious thoughts could be figured out later.

"Lean over the side of the tub and spread your legs."

Dark eyes opened to stare at him for an agonizing moment. Rejection clouded Seymour's mind. Luckily his darkening thoughts turned decidedly red as this striking man grinned, his eyes darkening further with lust. "Are all Guado so direct, or were you just lucky in that area too?"

Chuckling, Seymour stood up gracefully and walked up to the human. "Yes, Guado are direct, but not necessarily with the truth."

Those dark eyes lowered to the blue-haired man's hardening length. A calloused hand gripped the obvious, bringing Seymour to shudder.

"And you? Although I don't believe you could lie yourself out of this one," the man murmured, steadily stroking the erection back and forth through his hand.

The younger man's lips twitched into a grin. "I speak the truth, although my truth seldom agrees with everyone."

Seymour grabbed the man's wrist and pulled him up to stand several centimeters shorter than himself. Smiling down at him, he caressed the man's lips with his finger. His other hand released the wrist, and raked fingernails up the man's back until it became entangled in ebony hair. He used that hair to severely arch his new lover's neck. The man gasped but merely closed his eyes. Seymour grazed his teeth down the stubble covered length. The shorter man ground his groin against the other's upper thigh. Seymour could only grin. Humans were so impatient.

Seymour straightened, releasing the man's hair, and brought his hand down to cup the man's buttocks, stilling it. The man's eyes were already on him. "I am not lax when it comes to love-making. I intend to hear you scream before this encounter is over."

The man frowned for a moment, seemingly trying to figure out if he had just been insulted, but the prospect was apparently too promising since he quickly grinned right back.

"Now turn around and lean over the side and spread your legs."

The man obeyed without hesitation. The well-muscled body was truly a sight in its erratic breaths and steadying twitches of muscles. So eager for even the slightest stimulation. For all of Seymour's words, it did take a considerable amount of control for him to not take the man right then. But this was his first encounter with a human and he intended to make it memorable for both of them.

Seymour took a step forward and pressed his groin against the man's buttocks, then spooned him, resting one arm on the outside of his lover's to steady himself. His lover bucked against his form, but quickly stilled when the younger man bit the heated flesh at the back of his neck. The man moaned throatily and Seymour instantly fell in love with the rumbling sound.

With his other hand, the taller man caressed the trembling, damp chest, carefully avoiding touching the taunt nipples, but also touching them occasionally, merely to be rewarded with heated groans and the thrusting of the man's chest. The hand moved downward, caressing the deep navel, dipping inside of it once with his smallest finger, before continuing to the mass of pubic hair at the man's groin. His lover hissed as he weaved his fingers into the hairs. The man then groaned when he apparently realized that Seymour had no intention of touching his cock.

Seymour continued the brutal caresses down one inner thigh.

Breathing heavily, the man forced out, "Is it your goal to kill me?"

The blue-haired man chuckled. "I told you that it was my intention to hear you scream."

"To scream from pleasure or pure frustration?"

Seymour burst out laughing, but choked on it when the man suddenly twisted his hips, grinding them into his groin. He squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the thigh in his hand. "By Yevon."

"No, that was by me. Get on with it. You may be a patient man, my Lord, but I am not. We can do this making-love thing another time, but I came in here to be fucked, not to be messed with."

If humans could do one thing consistently, they could always amaze him. "You came here with the intention-"

"Yes!"

"How did you know-"

"I saw you coming here, and I followed."

The man's voice was growing increasingly impatient, but Seymour was growing increasingly uneasy with the whole situation. Suddenly something important occurred to him. He straightened and backed up a step.

"We have been going at it like animals here." The man snorted and Seymour rolled his eyes. "You clearly know who I am... I just realized that I have yet to learn -your- name."

The man sighed and straightened himself, stating stalely, "My name is Auron. My sworn duty as a warrior monk is to protect the people of Bevelle and abroad." Auron turned around and raised an eyebrow at him. "Are you always so suspicious of people?"

That name. Seymour knew that name from someplace. Luckily he had heard it only a half an hour before, or in his tiredness, he probably would have forgotten it. "By Yevon, strike me down."

Seymour had been in Bevelle for only four days, and already he was rocking the social structure of the city. Stiffly, he backed up another couple of steps, bowed, and muttered, "Forgive me, Sir Auron, I did not know who you were. I deeply regret any... troubles I have caused you."

The room was silent. The man before him was supposed to respond to such an apology, but Auron didn't even move. Seymour's mind, as well as his back, were beginning to ache.

"My Lord, I assure you that I followed you, and that I flirted with you, and that I was certainly willing to take this to the end. You have nothing to apologize for."

"But the marriage proposal-"

"A marriage proposal that I haven't agreed to yet. And I may never agree."

Startled, Seymour straightened his back. "You would refuse? But the council wishes it. You must understand the repercussions?"

"I would gladly give my life for Spira, but there are some things I won't do for my country, and marrying a woman I don't love purely for show is one of them."

Seymour couldn't help the tensing of his body. That was exactly what his parents had done. The simple statement seemed to curse his own life, the product of such a marriage.

Seemingly unaware of the turmoil he had caused, Auron sighed, turned around, and walked back up the stairs. Over his shoulder, he said, "And you -are- right to be suspicious. Many people want what you have, and many will get it by any means necessary." He bent over and began to dress. Seymour could only stand there and watch. "The council knows of your Father's intentions, and is unsure whether or not they want a Guado Maester in their mists. The older you become, the more dangerous you are to them." Auron paused for a moment, and slipped on his robe, before he turned around to face the seventeen year old. "But eventually you will learn that you have nothing to fear from me."

The man walked to the door, unlocked it, and closed it softly behind himself.

Seymour stared at the door for a moment, before whispering, "But you have yet to tell me why you truly followed me."

 

 

**Chapter 3: Unfaithful Intentions**

 

"Oh yes, and this fabric was imported from Besaid less than a week ago." Her smile becoming painfully fake, the seamstress pulled a clump of folded fabric from the bunch. "The woman who weaved this is a master of her trade. My original plan was to present it to Maester Mika, but the moment I was summoned by your servant, I knew this splendid design would suit you perfectly."

Trying his best to feign interest, Seymour let his gaze drift over the embroidered emerald fabric that she displayed to him on her forearm. She then held it towards his chest, probably showing him how well the colors meshed with his skin tone, and smiled up at him. But in watching her other hand reach down and tighten its grip around the scissors' handle in her lap, he seriously suspected that her smile was hiding the dire need to shove those scissors up his ass to see if he was alive. He wouldn't have blamed her. The seamstress was trying her best, and he almost felt sorry for her. Nonetheless, he lacked the ability to pretend that he had even the slightest interest in a pile of fabric swatches.

Seymour sighed. "I assure you that I have full confidence in your eye for beauty." Then he looked to the much-more-interesting tiled ceiling of the bedroom. The seamstress grumbled something colorful under her breath.

The woman had called on him an hour earlier that morning, at a time he thought was impossible for anyone to be awake and viable.

'So why did I not simply send her away,' he questioned his tired mind.

Whether it was a mistake in communication or a bad joke, Bannon was going to answer for it. Seymour snorted at the resulting vision of a naked Bannon tied to a bed, screaming out any answer he could possibly think of. That snort was the closest he was going to get to good humor that morning.

Then as if Yevon sent, the door cracked open, and his excuse for ending this charade entered the room. Bannon darted a glance between them, clearly sizing the situation, and sighed. The Guado walked up to them.

A simple 'Thank Yevon!' echoed in the blue-haired man's mind.

Seymour stood up, detaching himself from the hand that still held the fabric to his chest, twirled around on his heel, and walked out onto the balcony. Long fingers gripped the railing and he bent over just enough to get his stomach to turn over from the height. Their words barely reached him, but he didn't even attempt to listen. Bannon had a knack for dealing with people. Instead, the blue-haired man closed his eyes and let the sun soak into his skin. The wind carried the salty scent of the sea as it whipped his hair over his face. He tried to find peace, but it was as if the more he hunted for it, the more elusive it became.

The bedroom door opened and closed. Nearly silent footsteps approached him. The blue-haired man sucked in his breath and let it out with an unnecessary harshness.

"Please forgive me for my insolence, my Lord, but you really should take greater care in how you treat people. After all, that woman will be making all of you clothes. She may forget to put seams in certain places." Bannon chuckled, and reached out to draw slow circles over Seymour's back. "Not that I would mind, but giving the public more than they bargained for may not sway them favorably."

The touch was pure affection. But with that touch, all the questions and unbearable frustration, he had harbored since the night before, boiled over. Seymour rolled back on his heels, crossed his arms over his chest, and hissed, "I tell you what, next time you sit there and get poked by pins for a half an hour, then we'll talk about my conversation skills. But until then, I would appreciate it if you would keep your mouth shut."

Sudden tension blared between them. Bannon dropped his arm and took several moments to give Seymour a chance to explain his words, before he murmured, "Please, my Lord, have I done something to offend you?"

The taller man gritted his teeth. "You managed to find out a man's sexual preferences, but you failed to learn that he took care of me for two days? For some reason, that refuses to settle right with me."

"My Lord, what are you-"

"Auron, the warrior monk. You found out every feasible detail about him, except for the fact that he cared for me for two days. Voluntarily cared for me." Silence. Seymour turned around and frowned at the shorter man. He didn't want to get mad until he knew all the facts, but he was actually beginning to lose his patience. A nightmare-filled night of tossing and turning, and little sleep during the past four days, certainly wasn't helping his sanity. "Will you seriously expect me to believe that you were unaware of this?"

Eyes wide and obviously confused, the Guado shook his head for a moment. But he quickly caught himself and bowed in subjection. After years of service, Bannon had often dealt with his friend's distrust. Seymour often wondered why the man put up with him. "My Lord, I only arrived yesterday. I swear to you that if I had known this was an issue, I would have found out for you. When you were brought here, your status during that time was carefully guarded. Only the healers were allowed to report your well-being to your father. The residents of Bevelle were unaware that you were even in the city."

Seymour frowned for only a moment longer, then sighed and leaned back on the railing.

Bannon restraightened, a frown now distorting his face. "My Lord, if I may inquire, has something happened? Have you already met with Sir Auron?"

"Yes," was all Seymour could muster.

Seconds passed. The longer Bannon stared at him, the lower the man's jaw dropped. Unable to help himself, the seventeen year old blushed and his gaze fell to the ground.

"By Yevon," Bannon breathed.

Seymour let out a humorless half-laugh. "The situation was not as pleasant as you seem to presume. The man wants something from me. A human would not flirt with me just to flirt with me."

Bannon huffed a short laugh. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and rotated his weight onto one leg. His other foot shifted forward to tap on the side of Seymour's shoe. "Might I say that you surely fail to give yourself the credit you deserve?"

"The man is a human," Seymour sighed out, as if that answered all possible questions. He took in Bannon's responsive glower and sighed again. "There is no need to stroke my ego, Bannon. There is a reason for his actions, and I will find out what that reason is."

Dark brows raised. Then his friend burst out laughing, but apparently taking in Seymour's grim look, managed to get out, "I have no doubt that you will dig into all of his recesses, my Lord. Just be sure to bring plenty of oil."

Eyes instantly wide, Seymour took a second to laugh, before he lunged forward. Apparently anticipating the attack, Bannon nearly danced away, twirled around, and ran into the bedroom. The shorter man made it only several meters inside, before Seymour caught a hold of his waist, hoisted him over his shoulder as he walked across the room, and promptly threw him onto the four-posted bed. Seymour caged the thrashing, laughing body beneath his own and caught up both of his wrists in one hand, forcing them down above the Guado's head.

"Mm, how I have missed you, my beautiful lover." Seymour grinned and nipped at the dimple in the man's chin. Bannon moaned, twisting at the weight that held him down. "You know, mere minutes earlier, I had this delicious vision of you tied to my bed." A single long-nailed finger traced a line down his captive's vulnerable throat. "And you screamed for me."

Bannon grinned devilishly.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

Stalking down the hallway, Seymour rotated his shoulders with thread-tearing aggression. The stiff fabric refused to relax or become less itchy. He hadn't noticed any absent seams on the clothing, but was seriously considering making some holes of his own.

Two weeks had passed since he had arrived in Bevelle. The council had unleashed a whirlwind of meetings and ceremonies on him. Before, he could have ignored the invitations and solicitors. With his new job title though, which was surely some type of carefully designed torture from his dear father, the man had to put up with every human's bad joke that spilled out along with their bad breath. And every responsive fake laugh that came from his own lips. At times, he questioned whether or not time was actually still moving.

"Where are all of the man-eating walls when I need one," he mumbled at a portrait of a young Maester Mika, as he stalked past.

Even though he was shocked his sanity still held though it all, this hour was what he had been dreading the most. Today was the day he would come face to face with Auron and the woman who was to become the monk's wife.

Seymour hadn't seen the raven-haired man since that night, and was unsure whether to be pleased or disappointed. Nor did he have a clue as to why Auron had an interest in him. Was it something that had happened between them while the man had cared for him? Could he have said something to Auron in his delirium? The possibilities drew out instant panic. But those thoughts didn't explain why Auron took care of him in the first place.

Even after Bannon's prodding of the social circles, the answers that the half-Guado sought were as elusive as the peace he strived for. The only place Seymour would find answers was from the man himself. That presented obvious problems. Ones that he wasn't sure were worth overcoming. Or as Bannon had suggested, maybe he was just too chickenshit. Seymour preferred the former idea.

Nonetheless, as much as he had been dreading the ceremony and coming face to face with the monk again, he was rather curious to see what Auron would do. Was he still thinking of refusing the priest's daughter's hand? Would he actually say a flat out 'no' to the council? Seymour doubted it. No one would dare defy the council, at least not in front of a public audience. Actually, not even in private.

Seymour slowed his pace and turned yet another corner. Ahead of him, a small group of finely dressed people exited from an adjacent hallway. The ballroom doors were opened, spilling light into the dim hallway, and the people walked inside. The doors closed at the hands of the attendants.

His long fingers reached over the high collar, and scratched the itchy skin underneath the cloth. This was it. Straightening out his robes, he walked forward with considerably more grace than before.

Ceiling-high doors towered in front of him as he approached, and hid the commotion inside. The people at either side bowed to him, then opened the doors with admirable synchronization. He sucked in his breath and walked inside. The ballroom was filled with Spira's finest:

At the far end of the room, Maester Mika himself and his council were seated at a grandly-carved, elongated table. The table sat on a platform; its height meant to place them above all others. Their presence overlaid the entire room. Seymour had only met the man once during his first week in Bevelle. After the introduction, Seymour's main thought was that the man had been Maester of Spira for far too long. Give the man pointy ears and a beard, and he would have been the spitting image of Tromell. The only other difference between them was that Mika actually had the power he desired.

Sitting on either side of him were the guests of honor: both Auron and the priest's daughter, who was making rather animated conversation with the woman beside her. Seymour raised his brows when she caressed the other woman's cheek.

"Right," Seymour muttered.

The priest's daughter hadn't changed a bit.

Seymour looked back to Auron and realized that the man was looking directly at him. For a heated moment, he held his breath. His muscles tensed. His heart suddenly pounded in his chest. He was completely startled by his body's reaction. Then Maester Mika turned to talk to Auron. A brief smile touched the monk's lips before he turned to the man beside him. Seymour finally remembered how to breathe.

If there was going to be a marriage, it was going to be an unfaithful one.

Trying his best to ignore the absurd pounding of his heart, he scolded himself in his mind, 'what, by Yevon, is wrong with me? I am acting as if I were some needy child! This man has obviously been taking over -way- too many of my thoughts.'

Shaking himself mentally and avoiding any further examination of the far end, he took in the rest of the room with a quick glance. There were over a hundred people sitting at various tables that clotted the floor of the ballroom. Most people were engrossed in conversation. Some danced to the music of a small orchestra.

They were all waiting for something. For him. He was late.

Without warning, a man appeared like a ghost in front of him. Seymour had to fight the urge to stumble backwards. "Please, follow me, Lord Seymour. Maester Mika has requested your presence."

Following the man, a path seemed to magically form before them. He found himself standing in front of the head table all too quickly. He did the prayer gesture to Yevon so deeply that his body ached, but now wasn't the time to appear ungracious. As far as he was concerned, no one would ever know that he was terrified out of his mind. Bannon had told him earlier that these things would get easier as time went on. The blue-haired man didn't believe that for a second.

The room quieted.

Maester Mika smiled and let his voice ring out, "Welcome, Lord Seymour, your presence is an honor to us all. By Yevon's grace, you come before us to serve in Sir Julien's place. Your consideration during his daughter's darkest hour has not gone unnoticed by the gracious people of Bevelle..."

The flowing words went on as Seymour stole a glance to the daughter in question. She now sat demurely with her head downcast. Obvious pain hardened her face. The blue-haired man didn't have a doubt in his mind that her heart was breaking with the Maester's words. She loved her father. Never mind that the affection she sought from others was a substitute for the love she'd never received from the man. Pain cursing his own heart, he could easily see that since he was exactly the same. The only difference was that the half-Guado wasn't going to be sad when his father got what he deserved: Annihilation.

When it came to be his time to talk, Seymour knew he was talking about himself as much as he was talking about her. Sentences flowed as if they had been written centuries before. They were a goodbye. A welcoming of a new beginning. The souls around him seemed to move with his every word. Oddly enough, it was almost a release. Could this have been what Bannon was talking about, he wondered in the back of his mind.

"...It is the hope of all of Spira that they will join together in the most sacred of unions and bring their prestigious family names together." Seymour turned around and looked to the couple in question who now stood behind him. "Yevon has blessed you both."

His gaze locked with Auron's since it was his time to reply with a speech of his own. Suddenly Seymour couldn't breathe.

Auron looked only at him, and said loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, "Regrettably, my Lord, my interests lie elsewhere."

Seymour's eyes went wide. The sudden commotion around him seemed far in the distance. He could only see the man's dark eyes. They spoke to him without words. They told him exactly where Auron's interests laid. He couldn't believe it. His body flushed and his gaze dropped down to the ground.

Auron turned around to face the Maester. The room went silent again. "Please forgive me, Maester Mika, but I must decline." Seymour raised his head and saw Auron smile sadly at the tear-stricken woman beside him. "I'm sorry."

Then the warrior monk brushed past him and walked directly to the two doors. The doors opened and closed. Someone coughed. Julien's daughter burst into tears and ran from the platform, and to a familiar woman who wrapped her arms around the younger person and led her from the room. The room burst with whispers.

Standing there stupidly, Seymour still couldn't believe what had just happened. Nor could he get his heart under control. Maester Mika said his name, but without a thought, he actually ignored him and stalked directly to the exit. Once outside, he stopped in front of a suddenly terrified guard.

"Which way did he go?!"

The man whipped up his arm, pointing down the hallway. Seymour abandoned all civility and ran. His robes billowed and mesh and beads chinked, accenting his every movement. The sight may have been appealing, but he hated those clothes and would have much preferred to rip them from his body. He turned the corner and saw Auron directly ahead.

"Stop!" His voice echoed though the expanse of the hallway. With an obedience that wasn't there a couple of minutes ago, Auron stopped. Seymour ran the remaining distance and circled around to face the raven-haired man. For a moment he could only stare. Then he started to shake his head. Finally, he hissed, "Forgive me, for I know it is certainly not my place to ask, but by Yevon, -why- did you do that? How could you go in front of them an-and humiliate them like that? Surely you could have talked to Maester Mika in private. I mean, why did you-"

"I just wanted to make sure they heard me." Dark eyes gazed steadily at the taller man. The man's chiseled features were clearly visible with the raven hair pulled back into a ponytail. Auron was beautiful. Seymour felt the heat all over again. "Did -you- hear me?"

Seymour blinked. 'Did I hear him?!' the half-Guado's mind screamed, completely flabbergasted. Eyes wide, the younger man shook his head with an increasing abandon. "Are-are you -insane-?! Do you not have the slightest inkling of what you just did?!"

Auron chuckled, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked to the ground. "However it may seem, I am not a fool, my Lord. If I had not done it, they would have dragged it out for weeks, if not months, and that woman would have cried for that long, instead of a single night. The council has a difficult time accepting no for an answer. And I know full well what Maester Mika is wishing he could do to my body. I assure you that it's not pleasant." He walked around the younger man once again and murmured over his shoulder, "You know, I once heard this strange rumor that Guado are direct. Hmph, well, you should go back before they wonder where you are. I'm sure you're missing some tantalizing gossip about me."

Seymour tensed. Suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that his inquiries about Auron over the last week and a half had gotten back to the monk. He mentally slapped himself for his indiscretion, as well as his guilt. "Sir Auron-"

"Go back." The man's voice was already distant.

The heir of Jescal shook his head in utter disbelief. The man had given up everything, and didn't even seem to care.

After several minutes of standing in an empty hallway with his racing thoughts, he did finally start back to the ill-conceived ceremony, back to their humorless jokes and his own fake laughs. But now with him was the terrible knowledge that something was missing. Namely his soul.

Seymour snorted humorlessly. "But did I ever have one to begin with?"

 

 

**Chapter 4: The Price of Truth**

 

Lithe fingers flung an apple up into the air, then caught it and flung it up again. It was a nervous activity Seymour had been repeating for over a half an hour as he waited. Crude debates continually flooded his mind: the pros and cons of levies and alliances. Trade routes. What to eat that night. But eventually all topics unwittingly migrated to a certain red-cloaked monk.

The ceremony had been two nights prior to that early afternoon. Before that night, Auron had been the very idea of honor in the eyes of Spira, someone people aspired to be. That was if one pushed his sexual escapades under the rug, which Mika had seemed perfectly willing to do. Auron had gained so much respect with his obedience that, given time, Auron could have even become High Maester.

After twenty-four years of life, in thirty seconds, Auron the warrior monk had given up everything. All because he wouldn't marry a woman he didn't love. It was inconceivable.

The council's response had been quick and severe. Considering his height, Auron's fall was death in the social circle. Everyone, who'd heard even the smallest of rumors, knew the man was finished. With three sentences, he had proven himself to be untrustworthy, disloyal, and insolent. Certainly not one of the sheep.

The apple was flung up again and caught, as a bit of laughter sputtered from Seymour's lips. The heir of Jescal couldn't help but feel a bit envious. Auron had more balls than any other person he'd known, besides his mother. The man was an enigma.

"The man is truly insane."

Since the ceremony, some suspicions still fluttered around the half-Guado's mind but most had been abandoned. Time had a way of making people apathetic. Besides, Seymour had the feeling that all he had to do was ask Auron for answers. Today he was planning on getting some.

Seymour took a bite out of the bruised apple, and smiled. Over the course of two days, plus two weeks, he had also developed quite an infatuation for the ebony-haired man. It didn't help matters that, since the ceremony, Auron had been giving him heated looks whenever they were close. Nor when the blue-haired man had found himself migrating to places he knew Auron would be, just to bask in that dark gaze.

"Insane."

As amusing as it was, two days of playing was about all Seymour could handle. Children played. Adults only played in bed and they weren't in bed yet. But they would be soon.

Wearing baggy pants, a form fitting leather vest which did little to hide his chest, and black boots that cut off just below the knee, Seymour walked back over to the second-story window. Below laid the dirt ground of the training yard. Several men and women practiced their skills, their bodies glistening from the heat of the afternoon sun. An occasional flare of magic could be seen, but for the most part, it was just hard muscle brandishing harder metal and wood.

Silver eyes were drawn to the far end of the field. Since the last time he had checked, the object of his obsessing had appeared out there, and at the moment was stretching out his body. Auron bent over and touched his palms to the ground. Seymour tilted his head to the side and decided that the man looked decidedly delicious bent over like that. Now grinning, the blue-haired man took another bite of the apple, rested it on a table for later, and proceeded to the stairs. He was on the field within minutes. Wasting no time, he walked directly up to Auron.

A dust covered hand reached up to block the sun as Auron looked up from the place he was seated. When he apparently realized who was in front of him, he stood up and briefly bowed his head. "Good afternoon, my Lord." When Seymour said nothing, only stared, he added, "Do you wish to speak with me? I'm occupied at the moment, but..." Dark brows furrowed. "Or have you come out to watch?" The man's frown deepened as he seemingly took in Seymour's attire.

Seymour grinned, looking towards Auron's shockingly huge sword that was leaning against a wall. "Actually, I was hoping you would treat me to a match. Granted I lack efficiency with a weapon, but I am quite capable with my body."

Dark brows then raised for a moment. Seymour's grin intensified. He had caught the other man off guard, which was exactly what he had wanted to do. He was terribly sick of this person always having the upper hand. Of always being so disgustingly calm. Of his own rapid heart rate whenever the man merely glanced at him. He hoped to change all of that. As long as the man just didn't look at him in that certain way, and he himself kept the upper hand, Seymour was sure he'd be fine.

"Or do you have another partner?"

"No, no... It's just that..." Auron looked away, seemingly in an effort to find the proper words.

The half-Guado chuckled. Humans were so cute when they tried to soften the blow of criticism.

It was a well-known fact that summoners put all of their strength into developing bonds with their Aeons. The grunt work was left to their guardians. But Seymour never planned to enlist another Guardian, not after his mother. Needless to say, the priests of Baaj Temple hadn't been impressed with his decision. They had given him a choice: get a guardian or forget the idea of being a summoner. It was just too dangerous otherwise. Much to their shock, Seymour took a choice that hadn't been offered. He learned the art of hand-to-hand combat from any person that was willing to teach him. Through the bruises and sweat, that choice had soon become a passion. Less than a year after his arrival at the Baaj Temple, the priests had been grudgingly impressed with his abilities. They had never bothered him again.

Seymour crossed his arms over his chest and murmured, "Sir Auron, I am quite capable of defending myself. I also thought that a little friendly competition might give us a chance to get to know one another."

Auron gazed up at him with an irritating steadiness. The half-Guado felt his skin begin to burn. Seymour was about ready to shake the man's bare shoulders when Auron murmured, "My Lord, with all due respect, are you sure you're well enough? You nearly faced death two weeks ago."

The taller man stiffened. Auron had gone from confusion to apparent concern. -That- Seymour hadn't been anticipating. Why would Auron even care whether or not he fell flat on his face, he wondered, utterly baffled. Of course, the monk had been the one to heal him.

"I assure you that I am quite recovered. But you do bring up an interesting point, one that has been bugging me for quite a while now." Seymour backed up a step and began to stretch out a bit, more as something to distract himself from Auron's dark gaze than anything else. "How about we make this more of a game of sorts. Every time I take you to the ground, you answer one of my questions. If you take me down, I'll answer one of yours."

Auron rested all of his weight onto one leg, crossing his arms over his chest, and raised a brow at him. "Truthfully, I would assume."

Seymour's smile was hiding the sudden dire need to comprehend what on Spira he had just gotten himself into. The half-Guado knew he could always lie, but in taking in the other's severe look that was probably meant to intimidate him into submission, he found that he honestly didn't want to lie.

Not only was Auron cute when he was trying to save his feelings, the man was unbelievably sexy when he was being judgmental.

The blue-haired man grabbed the three sections of hair and began to braid them behind his head to keep the otherwise convenient handles out of reach. "Truthfully? But of course. There is no reason to lie, now is there?"

"Are you asking me to believe that you have nothing to hide," Auron queried as he watched the movements of Seymour's hands.

"We all have something to hide, Sir Auron. But if we have each other's assurance that we will never speak of what is said, I will tell you what you want to know." Seymour dug into a pocket, pulling out a leather strip, and tied off his hair. Satisfied, he sat down on the dirt to stretch out his legs. Then he smirked. "Besides, you have to get me to the ground first."

"You trust me?" Auron asked guardedly.

Seymour held his breath for a moment, looking up at the beautiful man, watching loose ebony hair drift in the breeze, and considered his options. There weren't many, but there was only one truth. His throat tightened. He couldn't bring himself to admit it. But Auron's gaze never faltered. The man was obviously unwilling to back down. That was probably a good thing.

Finally, the younger man admitted with a forced, "I want to trust you."

Auron's instant smile encouraged one of his own. "I will never betray that trust."

Seymour snorted. "Like the way you didn't betray Maester Mika the other day?"

"Ah, but you must understand something," Auron divulged, crouching down to the blue-haired man's level. "That charade had nothing to do with trust. It was an abuse of power. I spoke with her the eve before the ceremony, well, that's between the woman and myself, but I did what she couldn't." The older man let his gaze caress the other man's face briefly before he whispered, "You know, I did mean what I said to you."

Seymour's eyes went wide as strong fingers reached out and caressed his pale cheek. He couldn't help but flinch before he twisted his head out of reach, his heart hammering in his chest.

Auron's smile turned a bit sad. "If I have to lose who I am to have power, then I don't want it."

Unbelieving silver eyes glowered at the other man. This was wrong. This was all wrong! Everything the man said. His disregard for the order of things. His actions. The obvious concern on the man's face. The touch the younger man could still feel at his cheek.

Under his breath, Seymour unthinkingly blurted out, "What do you want from me?"

Auron studied him for a moment longer before he restraightened himself, and brushed past the seated man to walk toward the open field. Over his shoulder, he said, "Well, we'll just have to play to find out, now won't we?"

So much for not playing anymore. Of course, that was his own fault.

"Right." The blue-haired man shoved himself up onto his feet and stalked over to where Auron stood.

What Auron lacked in height, he made up for in bulk. Although Seymour had been gaining muscle, he was still frailer than the other man. But strength had less impact than technique in hand-to-hand combat.

The men eyed one another. Where Auron's stare was merely a sizing up of his opponent, Seymour's held an unbridled darkness. This man had been pushing every single one of his buttons for the past two weeks. It had taken him less than five minutes to do it again today. Whether that was intentional or not, Seymour had had quite enough.

Auron was going down.

Seymour circled to the right, never taking his eyes off of the other man. The afternoon sun blared down on them. He was careful to keep it out of his eyes. But the heat still penetrated his skin, bringing him to sweat. It was a perfect day to take a leisurely walk in a park. Or to enjoy one another's company over a drink.

'It's too bad we're not friends yet,' Seymour thought in the back of his mind.

The older man suddenly rotated his weight onto one leg. In the time it took to blink, Seymour had blocked one kick. With the second kick, he caught the man's leg in the crook of one arm. His other fist slammed into the man's stomach. He then yanked the leg up, pulling Auron off of his feet, and let go. The man's side collided with the rock-ridden ground.

Auron growled for a moment, clearly assessing any injuries, before he smirked at the man above him. "I can see that I'm going to have to brush off my 'A' material. Are you sure you're in the right profession?"

Seymour smirked right back. "The question is mine, not yours." He backed up a step, giving Auron room to stand up, and held no emotion back as he blurted out, "What do you want from me?"

The monk rose to his feet with admirable gracefulness. There wasn't a trace of pain on his face, although the blue-haired man was sure he had to be feeling some. Auron began to circle the other man. "You."

"Me? What kind of nonsense..." Words suddenly failed him. Auron couldn't possible mean that he merely wanted him and nothing else. There had to be more. Nonetheless, as they stared each other down, he begged, "But-but why?"

"That's two questions." The younger man gritted his teeth. Auron grinned. "This -was- your idea."

"Right."

The taller man attacked first this time around. The flare of punches, kicks, and blocks by both men would have been dizzying to an outsider. Then after a distracting punch to the face that was successfully blocked, Seymour crouched down on one leg, twisting at the same time, to take Auron's legs out from underneath him. The raven-haired man jumped up and kicked out one leg. The booted foot slammed into Seymour's jaw. The force flung him to the ground.

Grinding his teeth together, he laid there for a moment and clutched his jaw with an aching hand. He frowned. Pale fingers wiped at the liquid seeping out of his mouth. He bought his fingers up for inspection. Blood. That was a first.

"Am I playing too rough, my Lord?"

Glaring pure death, Seymour swallowed the pooling blood and shoved himself onto his feet. "You're a dead man, Sir Auron."

The monk burst out laughing. The younger man's glare turned black. "Your death wishes put me is such a good mood, that I'll give you an answer for free. But only after you answer one of mine." When the taller man merely nodded, Auron murmured, "When your mother passed away, why is it that you never took up another guardian?"

Silver eyes instantly went wide. "Why would you ask me such a thing?!"

"Is that your question?"

The blue-haired man shook his head adamantly. "No, it's just... I just..." Seymour closed his eyes. For the first time since he was thirteen, he wanted to run away. He hated questions. He hated replying to them. They always seemed to lead to pain and death. Or, as in his mother's case, a cursed existence that was far worse than any death.

Without warning, a hand touched his bare shoulder. He sucked in his breath as his eyes flashed open.

"My Lord, you-"

Seymour stumbled back a step, forcing Auron to let go. "No! I'm fine. I never enlisted another guardian because... because I don't want them to die." His breathing came out in harsh gasps. Tears appeared in his eyes. There was so much pain flooding his mind. He hated questions. He never should have agreed to any of this. His idea or not, this was not what was supposed to be happening! He had to end it before he said something he regretted. He had to end it before Auron got too deep. "I am done playing games!"

Auron smirked and simply said, "Good." Then he plopped down on the ground with little grace.

"Good?" Seymour let out a burst of half-hysterical laughter. "Might I say that you have this incredible gift for making people insane?" Auron snorted, putting his arms behind himself so he could lean back. Silver eyes narrowed. "Fine! My turn. Why did you take care of me for two days?"

The man turned his head to look to a pair of people training nearly fifty meters from them. "Because I didn't want to see you die."

"That is not the truth! There are numerous people who could have cared for me. People who were more qualified. What you said makes no sense."

Narrowed eyes burrowed into him, but Seymour refused to back down. Then Auron sighed and looked back into the distance. "Because I refused to let them kill you."

"What are you-"

"Do you remember what I told you two weeks ago?"

Seconds slipped by. Seymour's already pale skin whitened considerably. His body was suddenly weak and he sat down as well, although if Auron had been standing he would have forced himself to remain upright. He barely managed to get out, "The council is unsure whether or not they want a Guado Maester."

Auron nodded. "Your very existence is destroying many long held traditions. Why do you think your presence in the city was held a secret for two days?"

"By Yevon." The seventeen year old brought his knees to his chest and hugged them tightly.

"Well, I made their decision for them. My sworn duty is to protect the people of Spira. I take that duty very seriously."

Seymour examined the other man who watched him right back. Who had apparently saved his life. He searched for truthfulness, for reality. In the end, he couldn't hold the gaze for long, and looked to the ground as he worked his hair back out of the braid. The other man's warm gaze never left him.

His father had made it clear to him over the past four years that he would have preferred that his son had died on the pilgrimage. Death was more honorable than failure. Still, Seymour had never before realized his influence ran so deep that people were actually willing to assassinate him.

And Auron had saved him.

Seymour looked to the other man curiously and whispered, "Thank you. Did-did my father know?"

"I don't know," Auron sighed out as a single finger drew sketches in the dirt.

Loose blue hair fluttered as Seymour shook his head and let go of a humorless half-laugh. "Sir Auron, I thank you for telling me this. But you want me to trust you, yet you hide something like this from me? Why did you not tell me the truth the first time? Or two weeks ago, for that matter?"

"I don't know." Auron swept a hand over his sketch, erasing it from existence. "I guess I was just trying to protect you."

The half-Guado's body stiffened. "I am -not- a child! There is certainly no need for you to protect me!" Seymour huffed at Auron's raised brow. "I mean there is no need to protect my feelings. I am fully aware that most would prefer that I had never existed."

"My Lord..." Dark eyes filled with concern, Auron leaned forward and reached out an arm to him, but the younger man shrunk back. He dropped his arm and sighed. "I'm sorry. You're right. If I had wanted your trust, I should have told you." The man watched him for a moment longer, before he picked up a rock and flung it across the yard. "You know, many things over the months have made me question the Council. My arranged marriage being one of them. They become more corrupt with every passing year. But no one dares to question them."

"Except for you."

The warrior monk grinned at him. "I'm through being one of their puppets."

"You are remarkable, Sir Auron," Seymour whispered as he slowly shook his head.

"My name is Auron, my Lord. And most would disagree with you," the man murmured as he stood up and offered his hand.

The blue-haired man grinned. He gripped the calloused hand with his own and stood up. "And mine is Seymour. I would appreciate it if you would refer to me as such. And I am quite used to being disagreeable."

Auron chuckled. "Well, Seymour, have you eaten yet?" The man bent over to brush the dust off of his loose tank-top and pants.

"Actually now that you mention it, my stomach has been aching for a couple of hours, but I was unable to eat..."

Auron raised an eyebrow at him, and Seymour coughed. The younger man wasn't about to admit that he had been waiting for nearly an hour for monk to show up. The raven-haired man kept his gaze on him for a heated moment before he walked over to the wall to retrieve his sword. Seymour watched every controlled flexing of muscle with obvious appreciation. Then while walking back over to him, Auron swung up his sword to rest the handle on his shoulder. Seymour was surprised he didn't topple over from the weight. The two men began to walk back to the building.

"Perhaps you could share other matters with me that would be beneficial to my health," Seymour chuckled out as he rubbed at his aching jaw.

"But of course. All you have to do is ask."

Seymour held the locker room door open for the other man. "Precisely what I thought."

There was no need for games.

 

 

**Chapter 5: So Many Branches**

 

Rubbing at the swelling on his jaw that was sure to become a colorful bruise, Seymour collapsed more than he sat down on the bench, sparing just a few centimeters between Auron and himself. The adrenaline from their encounter was quickly wearing off. The numerous pains and aches left behind proved that the younger man probably wouldn't have been able to 'play' with the warrior monk for long. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn't completely healed from Sin's attack. Life's stresses and nightmare-filled sleep certainly weren't helping him regain his strength.

Sighing, he stretched out his legs and bent over to unlace his boots. Just then, a rush of quiet laughter pounded into his ears. He twisted his head to look to the far end of the locker room. A small group of men, in various stages of undress, were talking amongst themselves. A couple pairs of prying eyes were watching Seymour, but darted away the moment the people realized they had been caught.

Pale skin instantly flushed. Seymour jerked his attention away and worked again on unlacing his boots, to distract himself from the sudden pounding of his heart, as well as to satisfy the dire need to get out of there as quickly as possible. The locker room certainly was no more private than the public bath, but although he still fully dressed, he'd never felt more exposed.

He was an outsider. After what Auron had told him a few minutes earlier, he could no longer shrug off that fact. Who was plotting against him? Who could he trust? Not that he'd truly trusted anyone in the past four years.

The world had suddenly become an extremely dangerous place.

A hand touched his bare shoulder. Seymour gasped and jerked his head around to face the intruder. Then he sighed a breath of relief when he caught sight of smiling eyes. Somehow he'd forgotten that Auron was seated beside him.

"Are you all right," the raven-haired man murmured. Seymour nodded with a little more enthusiasm than intended. Auron dropped his arm and looked to the group across the room. "Just ignore them. I've been getting those looks for the last two days. I'm sure they're just trying to figure out what you're doing with me."

Seymour's snort carried little strength. "Well, you must realize that I get them all the time, but now, well..."

The words drifted off, forgotten. The younger man watched as Auron slipped his sleeveless shirt over his head, revealing tanned, scar-ridden skin. Muscles rippled as the man tossed the article beside him and set to work on his boots. Seymour sat there mesmerized by the body's every movement. Every line and curve of the man was near perfection. Hands fisted to keep from touching the warm skin. Auron kicked off his boots and sat back up. The motion brought the scent of sweat and earth to tantalize the younger man. He stiffened his back to keep from leaning forward. Auron stood up, and slipped off his pants. Now standing naked, the older man stretched out any aches from their brief fight. Biting his lower lip, Seymour's own loose pants were getting disturbingly tight.

Arms, that Seymour suddenly wanted wrapped around his body, flopped back down to rest at Auron's sides. The man looked down at Seymour. Dark brows rose. "By Yevon, don't look at me like that. I haven't even rinsed off yet."

The quiet, rough voice destroyed Seymour's control. Before the other man could protest, he reached out to run his fingers up the back of the man's leg. "Has anyone ever told you that your beauty is extraordinary?"

"Not in so many words, no," Auron whispered through increasingly heavy breaths. Pale fingers stroked the sensitive skin at the back of his knee. Silver eyes never left brown ones. "If you're hoping to get stares, this will definitely get them." The fingers continued to drift upwards until they barely caressed the crease of his buttocks, bringing Auron to shiver. He then stumbled back a step, leaned over, and snatched up a towel, securing it around his waist, seemingly in an effort to hide his hardening length. Giving Seymour an amused, but slightly exasperated smirk, he muttered, "I'm sure Guado are freer with their bodies, but humans tend to be a little more, well, shameful of their processes."

A side of the blue-haired man's mouth edged upwards. "Processes?"

"You know what I mean."

Seymour worked on unbuttoning his leather vest, with dark eyes watching his every movement. "My, my, and this is the man who came into a public bath solely to be 'fucked' a couple of weeks ago?" Careless fingers tossed the article on top of Auron's clothes.

"Yes, and I also locked the door."

"Ah, is that the catch? Perhaps I should ask them to leave."

Auron looked so shocked that Seymour had to laugh. "I'm going to decide that you aren't serious, and get myself rinsed off. Then we can get something to eat. All right?" Seymour stood up and took a step forward. Auron flung out a hand and pointed one finger out, as if to say, 'down, boy.'

Seymour couldn't believe how much he wanted to be -in- this man at that moment. Damnable human courtesies.

Instead, he smirked at the man's warning, kicked off his boots, and lowered his pants. Brown eyes were drawn to the effort and notably eyed what was in no way concealed by a blue mass of pubic hair. Auron cleared his throat and all but fled to the cubical community shower. Seymour grinned. He was only a few steps behind.

Whatever was going through his body though, the half-Guado could control himself. And he did. He'd never taken an unwilling partner, nor done something they didn't want him to do. He wasn't about to start with this man. With a man he felt a terrible, but nonetheless growing affection that he'd never felt before. After seventeen years of dealing with humans' discrimination, it was ironic that the object of his interest would end up being a human.

Maybe that attachment was just a result of the trauma of everything that had happened to him. A need to latch onto something stable, although the last thing Auron was in society was stable. The warmness also could have come from the fact that Auron had taken care of him, and probably saved his life.

Whatever it was and wherever it came from, it felt good. And dangerous.

When Seymour stepped past the door-less threshold, Auron was already underneath a shower head, turning on the water. Silver eyes cautiously watched the beautiful form for a moment, water running down the tanned skin, before he walked along the wall to the opposite side of the room, mostly in an effort to keep out of view of the people still in the locker room. Pale fingers, concealed underneath grim, turned on the hot water as far as it would go. The harsh pounding, against his shoulders and bruised face, felt exquisite. His whole body was drenched in a moment. The dirt and sweat ran off of his reddening skin and down the drain a few meters behind him.

Water was one of the few things that could allow him to relax completely. He took full advantage of that as he rested his palms and forehead against the tiled surface in front of him. Hot liquid poured down the curve on his back, taking his mind with it in every drop. It was freedom, a release, even if only a temporary one.

Eternity behind him, the feel of cool fingers running along his back actually made Seymour start as he called out. He twirled around to confront the person, who could only be Auron, and gasped when his face was gripped by two hard hands. Those arms yanked him down. A warm mouth met his. A hotter tongue sought to gain entrance into his mouth. With his previous gasp and current shock, it wasn't difficult.

While his body was saying, 'By Yevon, yes!' his mind was saying the exact opposite. He gripped the hands and pulled back to end the kiss.

Auron fought for a moment, but ceased when he seemingly caught the expression on Seymour's face. Apparently misunderstanding his reaction, the monk murmured through breath that was already heavy, "Those people left. We're alone. If we can make it quick, well, I'm more than willing..." Auron paused and really examined him. Concern darkening his face, he rubbed his thumb over a pale cheek, underneath Seymour's hands. "What's wrong?"

Blue brows furrowed, the younger man bit his swelling bottom lip and dropped his hands. Didn't this man know anything about Guado customs? How to explain it. "Ah, well, kissing on the mouth, it is considered, uh, unsanitary by Guado."

Auron frowned for a moment, the gears obviously working in his head. Then he burst out laughing. The taller man frowned in response.

Thick tanned fingers wiped at the younger man's lips. "I'm sorry. I-I guess I just had no idea. I mean... You just seem... Unsanitary? Who in Spira taught you such foolishness?"

"Guado never kiss on the mouth," the half-Guado muttered passed the fingers. "The fact that you humans do is rather, well, disgusting."

Dark brows flung up with abandon. Seymour could tell the other man was unsure whether to laugh his ass off or to have a serious and frank discussion about etiquette. "I'm sorry. I really am. I'll keep away from your mouth, if you want me to, all right? But if you ever want to try it, I can show you how good it feels, and I assure you that I have no major diseases and you won't be dead by tomorrow."

Seymour's glower didn't last long, not after those calloused hands pulled him back down and ran soft kisses along his bruised jaw. The man didn't try to kiss him again. Instead, soft nips with lips and teeth trailed down his neck. Hot water still pounding against his back, it all felt more wonderful than the blue-haired man could have described with words. The hands at his cheeks dropped to his nipples, and pinched with an aggression that made him hiss. His own hand shot up and gripped long locks of soaked raven hair, as he buried his face in the crook of his lover's neck, biting at his collarbone.

Auron was forced to look to the ceiling. In a hoarse, lustful whisper, he said, "Don't make me wait."

As those hard fingers pinched his nipples again, the blue-haired man couldn't have waited if he had wanted to. He literally shoved Auron's back against the wall, bending over to lace his arm around the back of a knee. Auron brought himself onto the toes of the foot still on the ground, as Seymour straightened, still bending his knees as much as possible to make his lover more comfortable while still giving himself leverage. The older man reached around his own captured leg, gripped the other's length, and giving his lover no time to react, shoved the tip inside of himself. Seymour gasped at the warm tightness encircling him, then let out a shaky breath as he pushed himself in remorselessly. Muscular arms ensnared the taller man's neck.

Auron's fevered breaths came out as heavy pants against his ear. "By Yevon."

Fully inside of his lover, Seymour almost lost all momentum when the realization of what they were doing crashed down on him.

Auron seemed to sense this when he begged through his panting, "Please don't stop."

Seymour needed no more encouragement to forget about logic. Eyes squeezed shut, he pulled out as much as he could, then thrust back in. Auron groaned, digging his fingernails into the flesh of the blue-haired man's back.

"You feel so good, Auron," he breathed next to his ear. That was an understatement. Being inside of this man, feeling his nails and breaths against his skin, felt extraordinary.

Seymour's hand wedged between them and stroked his lover's erection in earnest, the strokes quicker than his own pace. He ran his teeth along a muscular shoulder. The taste of heated, salty flesh drove his trusts harder. The man was so absolutely delicious. Dizziness swarmed Seymour's head. He was near delirium.

Auron's moans quickly became choked sobs into his neck as the younger man felt a pools of cum hit his chest and stomach. The sound was pure music. The taller man thrust his hips against his lover few more times and came inside of him. He bit his bottom lip hard enough to make it bleed as loud, heated groans tried to escape. Each ejaculation seemed to burn as he rode out his orgasm. Auron's grip around his neck never loosened.

Then, barely heard over their breaths, quiet footsteps padded to entryway of the public shower. Auron didn't seem to hear. His head on Auron's shoulder, facing the entrance, Seymour didn't bother moving since it was already too late.

A man peered around the corner. Eyes instantly went wide.

The severe look on Seymour's face clearly asserted, 'fuck off. He's mine.'

The man took the hint, turning on his heal and sneaking right back out.

Eventually the raven-haired man's breath evened out. He raised his head and nuzzled Seymour's cheek before soft lips kissed it. "Mm, you know, I was thinking: maybe we should just skip lunch, and spend the rest of the day in bed. Then maybe we can go out to dinner. A friend of mine is throwing a little going-away party. Well, actually, there's just three of us, but if you're willing to be my date... What do you think? My treat."

Seymour blinked. Pulling back and releasing the leg he'd held in the crook of his elbow, his softening erection slipping out of Auron's body, he whispered, "You-you want to take me out on a date?"

"Of course. Why not?" The enthusiastic smile made the half-Guado blush. "Well, don't get any ideas. It's a respectable place. Just dinner. Then we can come back to my place and put each other to sleep. Sound good?"

The younger man burst out laughing. "Is there any possible way that might not be good?"

"Great." Auron gave him a quick closed mouth kiss to the lips, then dunked himself under the shower and ran back out. "Holy shit, that's hot! How can you stand it?"

Chuckling, Seymour watched as the other man grab his towel off a hook, wrapping it around his waist, and exited the shower. In the other room, a quiet hello was exchanged, one unknown voice tinged with embarrassment. Seymour grinned.

After a quick rinse, a nod to a blushing man who clearly didn't want his existence acknowledged, and a change of clothes, they were out the door and heading to his room.

 

_.-=*^*=.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

"So many branches. So many stories." A long fingernail glided along the elongated hill of an old scar. "But I think this is my favorite one right here."

Auron chuckled into a pillow, his naked body lying on its stomach, then turned his head to rest his cheek on the pillow to say, "That one's not as interesting as it may seem. I got it falling off of a slide when I was a kid. I was standing up at the top, yelling at the top of my lungs at my friend to come up and get me, if he dared. But I was leaning too far over the railing. My shoes lost their grips, and I tumbled over. Landed right on a metal wagon. The edge is curved, you know. Who would have thought that it would cut me open like that, but well, I lost so much blood. I almost didn't make it."

"If I may say, that sounds like stupidity more than anything else," the younger man murmured through a grin. He was lying naked on his side, his arm bent to prop up his head, as he looked down at his new friend.

"Stupidity?" Auron let out a short laugh. "Yea, definitely stupid. I haven't scaled a slide since."

Seymour ran his finger back down the line that covered nearly all of the man's back, following the curve of a rounded buttock. He grinned when Auron squirmed a bit at the stimulation. "Can I confess that I have never even stepped foot on one? My life was rather... protected up until I was a teenager."

"Hmph. My parents were busy most of the time. They ran their own little shop on the boulevard in my village. Not that I was neglected, but I was pretty much free to do what I pleased. Mind you, I never got into trouble. I was a good kid, well, generally." The raven-haired man rotated onto his side and looked down his own naked body. "You know, the small ones have more of a story. You could probably relate to them a little better."

Lazy silver eyes needlessly wandered over the masculine form. Over the last few hours, he had memorized and tasted every inch of the man's delicious flesh. Tiny white scars covered Auron's arms, legs, and torso. Little ancient cuts that could have been either a form of torture, or a terrible accident.

"The little ones: they're from glass. I had to pull all of these shards out of my own skin one by one. It was Sin. You've seen Sin attack. It just sucked up everything, buildings, people, all up into the air. I heard screams and went to a window to see what was happening. It was nearly pitch black outside from all of the dust and debris.

"One moment I was standing there, ignoring my parents' shouts, the next a gust of wind tore apart the building, ripping it right out of its foundation. I was blown right through the window. I could hear my parents' screams. Then just wind.

"I woke up hours later on the beach. It hurt to blink. I was sunburned, cut up to shreds. I-I actually wished I was dead, it hurt so much. I was only ten." Thick fingers brushed ebony locks of hair out of brown eyes. Auron looked directly at him with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. "Both of my parents died. We never found my mother. But my father... I found him in the village, broken. I couldn't save him. I had never felt so powerless when his breath finally gave out. Never mind the scar on my back. I'd never known what real pain is until that day."

Auron suddenly seemed unnaturally tired. His eyes closed for a moment, giving Seymour a chance to study his face without embarrassment. He wanted to touch him, to show him somehow that he understood and cared, but he couldn't seem to move. Blame it on bad upbringing, but Seymour didn't have a clue as to how to comfort a person. Then again, most Guado didn't.

Eyes still closed, the monk forced out, "The town was destroyed beyond repair. It's just a bunch of ruins now. My family was dead. I had nowhere to go."

Brown eyes opened to watch the other man. His lips pursed. A few moments passed before he continued in a warmer tone, "Well, you know that boy I was yelling at when I was on the slide? The wagon was his actually. Braska was and is the best friend I've ever had. I came with his family to Bevelle.

"Just a few months later, a Summoner defeated Sin. Just a few months... Inside, I'd died with my parents. Over the weeks, then months, Braska could see how my pain ate at me. He's the one who encouraged me to become a healer. He knew me so well. Better than I knew myself, probably. Being a healer gave me a reason to keep breathing. I traveled wherever I was needed with a mere moment's notice. I lived through the lives I saved.

"I never breathed a word of it to Braska or my superiors, but when they changed my assignment, when I became a warrior monk; the idea of killing... I died again. Braska had been too right."

The man seemed on the verge of tears. Impulsively, Seymour reached out and touched his cool cheek. He didn't have a clue what to say. He knew words couldn't make it better. Yes, they had similar stories, but there were also so many differences that their lives weren't comparable in the least.

If this man only knew.

Guilt and rage consumed him. How many stories like Auron's had he created because he hadn't defeated Sin when he'd had the chance? All because he wanted revenge. Because he was afraid to die, afraid for his mother. Never mind that he had only been thirteen years old, since he was now a man, and he had been given yet another chance to defeat Sin, a chance he didn't take. He didn't deserve life. He certainly didn't deserve this man's compassion or affection.

Seymour snatched his hand away. 'If you only knew, you'd hate me,' his mind cried. Tears sprouted in his eyes. He wiped at them harshly and gritted his teeth. 'Pathetic.'

The need to tell the truth to this man, the complete truth so that he understood, darkened his heart. He knew he should say it, but selfishly, the words refused to come out. He just didn't want it to end yet. He didn't want Auron to hate him. Not so soon. Not just yet.

He hated himself all the more.

Auron reached out and wove his fingers though blue locks. "Hey, it's okay. Not very nice pillow talk, I know. Just forget about it. I want us to have a nice evening. That boy I was talking about, that's actually who we'll be having dinner with tonight."

"Are you sure you want me to-"

The monk huffed, jumped off of the four-posted bed, and began to dress. "Don't be foolish, Seymour. It'll be two against one, if you don't. I -need- you there." He bend over, picked up the mess of Seymour's clothing, and threw them on the younger man's lap. "Come on! We're going to be late. I know you can't understand my terror, but I'm not looking forward to Yuna's chiding words. She's a beast, trust me."

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

A burst of laughter almost escaped the half-Guado when he saw the said 'beast' and then again when heard her 'chiding' words.

They entered the small waiting room of the restaurant. A young child whipped around, her bright, multi-colored eyes widened. An instant smile beaming, the girl jumped up and squeaked, "Auron," before she ran up to the warrior monk. Auron picked the girl up, and swung her around. Giggles filled the room.

The child's arms wrapped around the man, her feet still high above the ground, Yuna murmured, "Why are you so late? My stomach hurts. And Daddy was trying to eat my arm!"

Auron laughed, nuzzling the child, before he set her back down. He turned to a man sitting on a high back chair. Seymour took note. The man, whom he assumed was Braska, was the very definition of elegance and charm. He wore the traditional clothing of a summoner, although the cloth was most unusual, like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was too fine, too shiny, to have been made by human hands. Curiosity drove questions in his mind, but he knew that now wasn't the time to ask. Instead, he directed his attention to the man's face. The warm smile on Braska's lips welcomed everyone, friend and unknown, to him. Despite Seymour's unease over the whole situation, he couldn't help but smile back.

"Really, Lord Braska, you need to learn some better table manners," Auron chided playfully.

Braska's smile was nothing compared to his soft laugh. "I assure you that the arm was offered. Are you planning on introducing me to your friend?"

"Of course." The warrior monk turned around, loose ebony hair following the movement. He grabbed Seymour's hand and pulled him forward with a noteworthy aggression. Wide eyed, the blue-haired man stumbled a step before he stood alongside his friend. "This is Lord Seymour, diplomat for the Guado, heir to Lord Jescal. Not to mention, the single summoner in Spira without a guardian."

Lifting a brow, but still smiling kindly, Braska bowed his head for a brief moment. "I've heard a great deal about you, my Lord. I'm glad to see that you've met -my- Guardian. Or rather, I'm glad he met you. I haven't seen him be quite so animated in years."

-His- Guardian? Something in the back of Seymour's mind ate at him. Something that Auron had said to him earlier that day.

~ A friend of mine is throwing a little going-away party. ~

Silver eyes widened. Under his breath, he hissed, "No." He felt Auron's eyes on him. Suddenly the room seemed indefinitely small. He ripped his hand away.

"Seymour, please. I wanted to wait until the time was right to tell you. I wanted you all to meet first before... I just-"

"NO!"

 

 

**Chapter 6: Obligations**

 

The modest dining room of the restaurant brimmed with loud, cheerful people. Seymour's three companions sat along with him at a compact table. There was barely enough room to eat without bumping elbows, and they were actually seated at one of the better tables. If Braska hadn't reserved a table, Seymour was certain that they would have been eating scraps from the dumpster long before they would have been seated at even the smallest of tables. Nonetheless, the food was beyond compare in the jungle of restaurants in Bevelle. No customers were about to complain.

And no one seemed to care that these two young men before him were going to die, even though they surely all knew it. He seemed to be the only one that hadn't known. Had Bannon known, he wondered, paralyzed and furious with the prospect.

~~I will come back. Seymour, you must believe that.~~

Auron's words echoed over and over in the teenager's mind, as well as his own simple, garbled reply:

~~No you won't.~~

Seymour watched the transformations on Auron, Braska, and Yuna's faces as they talked. He participated when he had to, but for the most part, just wondered how they could be so happy, so oblivious, so disgustingly full of hope. Of course, they didn't know what he knew. No one in the restaurant knew. Only the ultra-elite and the dead knew. Seymour himself had both requirements working in his favor. Not only was he one of the elite whether he liked it or not, he was already more or less dead. His body, his instinct to fight for life, just hadn't accepted that fact yet.

As much as the half-Guado wished it was different, a few hours of absolute pleasure with the spectacular man seated at his side couldn't reverse seventeen years of pain.

But now it wasn't his own life on the line.

Seymour was beyond miserable. Anguish festered inside of him, and there wasn't a thing he could do about it. Even though mere hours before he had wanted to admit to every wrong thing he'd ever done, he couldn't say a word of warning to Auron and his friend.

The secrecy of the truth was what held Spira together. It gave the people a reason to keep living. It filled their hearts with hope that one day the curse of Sin would be lifted. He knew that revealing the truth could only create anarchy. Civilization as they knew it could be destroyed. Perhaps even more would die from the very hand of man, than Sin had ever killed.

That thought brought his mind down a trial he'd traveled nearly every day for the past four years: One thing that had always held true to him was that if Sin had really wanted to, it could have destroyed every trace of civilization within days. People were so pathetically vulnerable to Sin's awesome power. There was sure to be a reason summoners were allowed to obtain the Final Aeon. There had to be. There also had to be a reason the people of Spira were kept alive, like a herd of cattle.

With only drippings of the facts though, he couldn't begin to decipher those reasons. The multitude of books, he'd read in Baaj Temple and in the past two weeks in Bevelle, had only contained fragments of the truth. That infuriated him, giving him an eternal headache.

There were so few who knew the absolute truth, or at least thought they did. Seymour knew he had to talk to his father, or even to Maester Mika. But even without breathing a word of his troubles, he already highly doubted any truth would be revealed to him. He was still a child in their eyes. Until he outgrew his teenage guise, he knew he would never hold a real voice. For all his name and status, not to mention an apparent assassination attempt on his life, he had not a trace of true power.

There was only one way to get power.

The clear image of his father's face rotted what little good humor he had as the people before him laughed, oblivious to his internal torture. 'I suppose I could always extract the information from my father. He'd be begging for death by the time I got done with him. A death I'd be more than happy to deliver. I can do nothing now. I can't even warn Auron, because I don't know what I'd warn him of. I don't know the truth. No one does, except for atrocious people like my father. The summoners and their guardians never come back. Auron -must- know this. He must know that he isn't coming back. This is all such utter...'

"Bullshit," Seymour grumbled the regressed word under his breath. He barely heard himself in the ocean of voices.

Auron instantly looked to him questioningly. The man had amazing ears, when he wasn't coming off of an orgasm. Seymour merely shook his head once, and then ground his teeth when a calloused hand covered his own and gave him a squeeze. The pure innocence in Auron's smile brought him to an all new low.

Had there not been a room full of people, the half-Guado would have fallen at Auron's feet and begged with every ounce of strength that the man not leave him. He would have told him that he couldn't go, that he'd -never- let him go, even if holding to that promise meant investing in yards of rope and spending the next few months tending to his stunningly beautiful captive. Days before, hours before, that image would have made Seymour smile, but now it only made his stomach cramp.

Apparently noticing Auron was no longer paying attention to his story, Braska looked between them, then changed the subject by offering cheerfully, "Lord Seymour, Auron tells me that this is your first time in Bevelle. Have you found the city to your liking? I know that its size can be overwhelming, but nowhere will you find a place with more life crammed into ever centimeter, kind of like soup in a jar."

One blue brow flew up, then another, before he let out a short burst of laughter, his pain momentarily forgotten. "Yes, those would have been my words exactly. I still find it amazing that everyone can get everything accomplished. And can breathe while doing it. Bevelle is certainly an example to the world." Braska's smile beamed, as Yuna fished through her casserole for any remaining peas. Auron smiled, but the expression was careful, as if concern would break through at any moment. Seymour purposely ignored him as he continued. "But with so much life, surely death is on the forefront of everyone's mind. And you are going to save them all in exchange for your life, and the life of your friend, correct? How decidedly noble."

The dark sarcasm was clear, and Seymour regretted it instantly. Bannon would have kicked his ass, forgetting for a moment his master's title and lineage, had he been there. He knew he would have deserved it.

Braska's face tightened, but to his credit, his smile remained strong. "My Lord, it is a great honor to serve all of Spira. When I defeat Sin, Spira will be at peace. Half of your life has been dedicated to surviving Sin's attacks. You understand how miraculous peace is to the people's well-being. I will happily give my life to give my family, my friends, everyone you see here, a better one."

"But for only ten years. Is that really-" Seymour stopped at the small shake of Braska's head.

"My Lord, I remember peace. It's been too long since the last calm. I want my daughter to be free of worry, even if it -is- only for ten years. She'll treasure them, as will all of these beautiful faces here." The summoner's smile deepened. "I will do it for you as well, Lord Seymour. You deserve peace from your worries, perhaps more than most here. Everyone knows of your sacrifice four years ago. Your mother has been dearly missed.

"Perhaps when you have children of your own, you'll understand why I -want- to do this." The man's long, slim fingers brushed at his daughter's hair. She leaned into the touch slightly, seemingly oblivious to her father's words, as if she'd heard them many times over.

Needing to look somewhere, anywhere, besides at these two people, Seymour looked to Auron, who sat beside him, and blinked at the intense stare of the man's dark eyes. His breath caught in his throat. He knew then that he had over-stepped his bounds. Auron was clearly upset with his careless words. Never mind the men in the locker room who had made his skin redden. Never before had the half-Guado felt more like an outsider. He realized then that it was because, contrary to nearly every other person in Spira, Auron's opinion truly mattered to him. That realization stunned him into submission.

Seymour bit his bottom lip and looked down at the full plate of now-cold food. He felt Auron's gaze on him for a moment longer before the man mercifully turned his attention to encouraging Yuna to eat more than just peas.

The cheery voices, the sounds of forks clinking on plates, his own rapid heartbeat, all bore down on him. His only anchor in the abyss was sitting so close that he could have touched him had he just reached out his hand. But he couldn't make the contact.

After what seemed like an eternity, the meal ended soon enough, and the small group stood up. For a moment it was tense, but Braska was apparently unwilling to allow to allow that tension to last.

Braska reached out a soft hand and held Seymour's, as he said, "Thank you for your company, my Lord. I only wish that our meeting could have been under happier circumstances. When Auron and I begin the Pilgrimage two weeks from now, it would warm my heart if you were there to see us off and honor us with your blessings." Seymour merely nodded, even though his body was screaming to do much more. Braska gave the hand a light squeeze then released it and grinned. "I pray to Yevon that you keep Auron out of trouble until then. He's one of the few people I trust with my life, and I trust him with you."

Seymour nodded solemnly, and had to tense every muscle to keep from grabbing Auron and running out of there. Braska and Auron pecked a kiss of friends. The raven-haired man then bent over to give Yuna a kiss as well.

"Bye-bye Auron. Sleep well," the girl murmured through a grin, as she rubbed at the wet spot on her cheek.

"Sleep well, you two," Auron murmured through his own grin.

The summoner took his daughter's hand and led her from the table and out of their view into the swarm of people. Seymour watched after them before he looked to the man at his side. Auron was watching him coolly.

The half-Guado already knew it was utterly pointless and nearly obscene to say it, but he couldn't help himself as he muttered, "The love you share with your friend could light the night's sky. Even I am blinded by it."

Auron blinked. Clearly that wasn't what he had expected to come out of his new friend's mouth. A thick hand grabbed Seymour's slim one, and led him hurriedly through the crowd to the entrance. Seymour stumbled past people, trying to keep his robes from being stepped on and tangled up in. His pale skin flushed with the adrenaline flooding through his system. A confrontation was sure to come once they stepped outside. He knew he was ill-equipped to deal with it. After all, this was his first true relationship outside of duty. He had no idea how to keep it stable. Knowing himself, he'd most likely send them into an uncontrollable tailspin.

The front door was shoved open and they walked out into the cool night air. The breeze helped to chill his heated skin.

Even though they were surely quite the spectacle, Auron the more or less banished warrior monk, and Seymour the only half-Guado in Spira, were dressed in their best and hand in hand as they maneuvered around people along the busy sidewalk.

A knowing smirk even appeared in the crowd every now and then.

Seymour's breath grew heavy from their exertion, but the monk refused to slow down. They had marched for nearly five minutes before Auron slowed his pace. Seymour looked around and saw the outlines of trees in the dim lamplight. They had come to a park. The man led him down a narrow sidewalk until they came to a lone bench. There were no footsteps to be heard. Only the night creatures let them know that something was alive besides themselves. Auron released his hand, untied his own belt, shrugged off his robe, and laid the silken fabric on the bench.

"Sit."

Previously underneath the robe, the monk was dressed in a simple wrap-around shirt and baggy pants that were tucked into knee-high boots. Loose raven hair shimmered under the little light that was available. His eyes were even brighter as they seemed to absorb that light and hold it captive. Seymour wanted nothing more than to touch his skin.

"Sit," Auron repeated breathlessly.

Seymour shook his head when he realized what Auron wanted him to do. "No, I am quite all right. Please make yourself comfortable."

"Seymour, there's no need for you to get dirty. Those clothes you're wearing probably cost more than most people make in a month." The older man gestured to the bench and added, "Please."

The summoner pursed his lips for a moment, but then obediently sat down on the robe and carefully watched Auron as he sat down beside him. The warmth of the man's body could be felt even through the chilly night air. It felt wonderful compared to the fear eating at him.

Auron propped his elbows on his knees and dropped his head onto his palms. His face disappeared from view as he rubbed it onto the skin. A deep, throaty sigh vibrated out of him. Seymour realized then that this man seemed to be in as much pain as he was. It startled him to the point that he reached out and touched his friend's shoulder. The muscles under his hand tensed for a brief moment before Auron relaxed into the touch.

"You've got you know that this isn't something I normally do. To be honest, I don't really know exactly -what- I'm doing," Auron mumbled through his hands.

"What are you talking-"

Auron straightened suddenly and looked at him. His brown eyes burned. "You, Seymour. I'm talking about you. You've got to know that I don't normally do this type of thing. I mean, I've had my flings, but-but you're making me think about things that shouldn't be crossing my mind right now. I -never- second guess my decisions. It's death to do so. But you're making me second guess everything."

Auron looked at him imploringly, as if Seymour held all the answers. When the younger man was only able to work his jaw up and down, the monk flung himself off of the bench and began to pace like a caged animal. Seymour could only watch, helpless.

"I know, I know that this is my fault! -I'm- the one who hit on you. -I'm- the one who let myself become completely absorbed by you. -I'm- the one acting like a complete idiot here. I'm a complete fucking idiot!" The pacing continued.

Seymour couldn't take his eyes off of the enflamed motions. Auron was absorbed by him? He tried to grasp the underlining meaning of what had been said.

Perhaps they were just the words of a desperate man who knew his life was going to end, but couldn't admit it to himself or anyone else.

Perhaps Auron was losing it. With the way he was acting, Seymour wouldn't have been surprised by the notion. This definitely wasn't the cool and collected man that could make his body flush with a mere glance. This was a man who seemed to feel everything times ten. The wildness of it drew Seymour in as much as it made him cower.

Then finally, Auron stopped and faced him, crossed his arms over his chest, and forced out, "But you've got to understand that no matter how much I care about you, I -have- to protect Braska. I'd never be able to live with myself if I didn't. I owe him so much more than merely my life. He kept me alive when my world died. He kept me sane. I love him with my every breath."

Seymour dropped his gaze to the hands that were tightly folded in his lap. Luckily it was too dark out to really notice his anguished reaction, saving him the embarrassment of Auron realizing how much that hurt. "I know you love him. I found it rather impossible to miss."

Auron groaned and flung out his hands, as if to say 'why me?' "By Yevon, Seymour, you're missing my bloody point! I love you too, and that's what's making this so difficult! Don't you see? You're taking me away from everything I've ever thought my life was, and I never thought I'd be so happy to leave it all behind. You have to understand that I couldn't marry her and be with you at the same time. That's something I just can't do."

The half-Guado's jaw couldn't have dropped any lower, as silver eyes darted up to watch Auron kneel in front of him. Auron -loved- him? This certainly wasn't the reason Auron had given him before for defying the council's wishes. A thick hand touched his cheek. His jaw snapped shut.

"But, I'm not saying this to pressure you. I know it's too soon to be saying these things. I mean, I'm listening to myself and I'm about ready to slap myself!"

Auron's skin glowed with a blush that darkened his pale skin. His words were wildly fervent. Seymour couldn't help but be caught up in the emotion. He found himself leaning into the touch. This was something his soul had wanted to hear since his mother had died. Whether or not the emotions were true or it was simply too soon to know for sure, Seymour found that he couldn't have cared less. His greedy heart wanted more.

The monk brushed his finger over Seymour's lips, looking as if he wanted to kiss them, and continued in a more subdued tone, "But you must forgive me because no matter how much I toss everything I've achieved in the gutter, I can -never- release my obligation to Braska. And you must believe that I will come back. After all, I have a reason to come back: You."

Striving to accept their fate, Seymour blinked repeatedly as he examined the man's pleading face. So many absurd promises. So many lies between them. The younger man's respiration came out in ragged, shallow breaths. Tears threatened to spill. He couldn't stop his body's reaction though, no matter how much it embarrassed him.

Under his breath, the teenager whispered, "But you don't know. You can't understand. You won't come back!"

Auron shook his head, a weak smile warming his mouth, and Seymour knew the monk couldn't possibly understand what he was talking about. Sin, the very beast that had brought them together, was now going to rip them apart. Then without warning, he realized that Auron would actually become Sin if he had his way! The life was instantly drained out of him. How the thought had eluded him before was beyond his understanding. Simple, absolute denial, maybe?

Suddenly the rope idea was beginning to sound much better than before. But the small bit of ill-humor was quickly shrugged off, as a hopelessness filled him beyond capacity. There was nothing he could reasonably do to stop him.

"I know we haven't known each other long. I know that we've shared so many lies between us. But I -do- know you, and I love what I see," Auron murmured with irritating softness.

"You don't know... You don't know what you're saying."

"I do know. Trust me, I don't throw my heart around lightly. No matter what you've done in your life, and know that I've probably done things many times worse, you are one of the bravest people I've ever met. In face of everything done to you, you always keep going."

Seymour ground his teeth. This man knew -nothing-. Or else Auron was in a state of total denial. And this wonderful man--a man his heart throbbed for--was going to face something far worse than death, and Seymour couldn't do a thing to stop him. With the love Braska and Auron shared, he was sure that even if he did tell Auron what little he knew, the man would still guard Braska until his end. It was hopeless.

All of it, that night, that day, two weeks before, four years earlier, his entire life, it was all too much to bear at once.

Eyes squeezed shut, barely a whisper, Seymour said, "You should have let me die."

The hand still at his cheek moved to the back of his neck. Auron pulled close enough to caress the other's mouth with his breath. "Don't say that. I would never let you die, Seymour. Never."

Their lips touched, and it felt like heaven. He kissed back with a passion that he hoped told Auron how much he loved him and his goodness.

Two weeks. That was all Seymour had to find a way to keep Auron with him forever.

 

 

**Chapter 7: The Power of Denial**

 

~~~ Five days later ~~~

 

~~My Lord, wake up.~~

Cringing, Seymour groaned throatily and swung a hand, searching out the warm blanket that had been wrapped around him. Or had it been a warm body?

"My mood grows fouler with every second I am forced to look at your naked backside, my Lord. You -will- regret it if you make me come in there after you."

Awful, cold fingers grazed over his shoulder, gripped it, and gave him a jerky shake. After a defiant yank of his body, Seymour rolled over and buried his face into the pillow, trying the escape the presence that was becoming all too real.

"Damn you! Get out of that bed!"

For a second, there was merciful quiet. Then a hand, that felt more like metal than flesh, landed squarely on his exposed backside. Instant heat exploded like a wave of fire through his skin, as the sound of the smack resonated off of the walls. Blue hair flung out wildly as the teenager jerked his head off of the pillow to holler out his dismay. He whipped his head to the side to confront his attacker. The hand was again raised high in the air, ready to deliver another blow. And from the furious look on the Guado's face, he knew he only had a split second to avoid the paddling.

Moving with an agility rarely necessary to use, Seymour twisted around and flung himself at Bannon, tackling him to the floor. The Guado pounded at his bare chest, hissing his fury. The summoner caught both arms by their wrists and forced them above the shorter man's head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he noted that the task took considerably more effort than it usually did. Bannon twisted in the grip and spat like an enraged beast.

"What a remarkably disrespectful way to wake someone up. Is my discipline of you lacking in some way?"

"Get off of me, you inconceivable wretch!" The man's every breath was as wrathful as his words.

Seymour frowned and really looked at Bannon. Face reddened to the color of an apple, the man struggled with every bit of strength he had against a man who was much stronger. Sleep wearing off, Seymour realized just how mad his friend was. In fact, he'd never seen him so full of rage. Startled, he released the arms and let himself be shoved off of his friend's body. His buttocks made contact with the chilly stone floor, and he yelped. Bannon was already on his feet and storming away to a chair that wasn't Seymour's. The blue-haired man frowned as he raked a gaze over the room. It took him a moment to realize where he was: Auron's bed chamber. And the Guardian was nowhere to be seen.

"How did you know where to find me?"

Bannon growled as he picked up the pile of clothes on the plush seat and started back to him. "A good two hours of looking. In fact, it took five days for someone--not you--to tell me that you were no longer residing in your own room. Of course, he was no help in telling me you would be here."

The man's long arms threw the clothes with terrible hostility. Seymour flung up his hands to shield his face from the many embellishments that made the fabric many times heavier than it should have been.

"Am I detecting a bit of motherly love from you underneath this dire need to crucify me, my dear friend? Or jealousy perhaps?" Seymour purred, a tone he had used on an uncountable number of occasions.

Dark eyes narrowed though in a way they never had before. "Your secret liaisons are no concern of mine, but never has it been your habit to forsake your obligations like this. And you -know- my backside is the flesh that will feel your father's wrath."

Seymour tried to laugh, but couldn't help frowning at the same time. "Really, Bannon, you know I am my father's official whipping bird. I would never let that man's vile hand touch your tender skin."

"Oh, will you stop with your ridiculous flirting! You are not going to get on my good side. I no longer have one." Bannon twirled back around, his long coat billowing, and pretended to find some interest in a painting on the far wall. "Besides, you should hold back such words for your hummingbird of a lover."

Silver eyes widened for a split second, before his face became an expressionless mask in order to hide his sudden outrage over his friend's unapologetic choice of words. Had Bannon been referring to his master, the said 'hummingbird' would have laughed and agreed. But Seymour certainly didn't need or want to hear such tasteless utterances about Auron coming out of his friend's mouth.

What a terrible way to wake up. And where was Auron, he wondered. The most likely answer was at his post. Nonetheless, he wished the man would have called in sick for the day, or at least for that morning. Auron's voice would have been much enjoyable to wake up to. Or even the monk's hand right there on that certain spot he'd found the other day.

Those thoughts were pointless though, and would have only brought about an undesired 'stand-to-attention' had he continued. Using the bed a leverage, Seymour shoved himself onto his feet and began to put his pants on. It was all he could to do not yank them on, ripping them in the process, taking out his annoyance on something that at least wouldn't bleed. He straightened, and tied the string at his waist a little too tightly, so that he was forced to untie it and repeat the process with less of an attack.

The Guado's back remained to him, almost pointedly.

Seymour shook his head. "Jealousy may have been an understatement," he growled under his breath, but loud enough for the other man to hear.

Bannon twirled back around, his eyes narrowed and accusing. "You-you... There is no reason for me to be jealous of some -human-! I swear, Seymour Guado, you are the stupidest, most egotistical, blind person I have ever met! That you think I'm jealous - when have I ever blocked the way between you and another?" The shorter man stormed up to him, and looked as if he was going to punch his chest again. Seymour braced himself for it, but the blows never came. "Your heart, your purpose has always been clear to me, and I have never had a place in it, besides being your 'mother'. You are right. This is motherly concern, but only because I love you. For the sake of our race, you can -not- neglect your duties here. Nor can you throw away everything for this human!"

Teeth grinding for a moment, the teenager glared down at the older man. "You fail to notice that I have been attending -every- one of these pointless little meetings. Every single tedious hour I spend listening to these arrogant, haughty humans, is time you run off, doing whatever it is you do. You have no right to question what I do! And you are NOT my mother!" Seymour swung down and grabbed his robe off of the floor. It took several failed, enraging attempts to get his arms to go through the sleeves. When a seam tore at the back of an arm, a simple, "Fuck Yevon!" shot out of his mouth.

"Did you kiss him?"

The quiet words brought an instant stilling of Seymour's struggles. He eyed the shorter man, toiling to understand what the unquestionably irrational Guado was now asking, and he realized that a calm had taken over Bannon's face. The question was obviously one the Guado expected to be answered.

Seymour frowned, before he cautiously said, "Yes. Why-"

"Just heard rumors. You two have really managed to make spectacles of yourselves." The rage had quieted, but Seymour could still see it in the older man's face as the Bannon carefully watched his every movement. "Do you... love him?"

Sudden anxiety burned through his system. The teenager had never seen his friend like this before. Not wanting to resist the impulse, he reached out his hand to touch his cheek, but the Guado slapped it away.

"Answer me," Bannon hissed quietly.

"I love him as much as I have loved any other," came his soft reply after a moment's hesitation.

The Guado's jaw tightened to the point Seymour was afraid that it would break. "You have never loved -anyone-!"

The blue-haired man's mouth gaped open for a moment, ready to deny it, but then he let it close. It was an accusation that the Summoner couldn't deny. Even after the time he had spent with Auron, he couldn't help but question if he was really feeling anything. Perhaps Auron was merely the embodiment of needing to save someone, anyone, for the sake of his own sanity, so he could forgive himself for his failure to protect so many people.

What was inside of him was pain, yes, but also an emptiness that no one seemed able to fill. Not Bannon. Not Auron. And although he loved her dearly, certainly not the remnant of his mother living inside of himself, like a parasite in his soul, never allowing him to forget. Never allowing him any peace for a single moment.

But then again, he no longer owned his own soul, so his complaint couldn't be legitimate, he thought, smirking internally.

"Kiss me."

Startled, Seymour refocused his attention back on his friend. "What?"

"Don't make me repeat myself!" Bannon reached out a hand and touched Seymour's reddened, bare chest. "If you refuse me, well, then I will never know. Never will I condemn myself to some human's arms. Besides, you are the only person I would allow to do it, Guado or human."

The half-Guado bit his lower lip. Everything the man was saying was stirring up so many conflicting thoughts and emotions.

All of his life, he had heard the discriminatory talk of humans from the Guado around him. Never had he questioned it, even with the presence of his mother. He had just always assumed that she was the exception, one who was willing to embrace their life and culture and make it her own. But now with Auron and the others he had met, the words, the degradation of humans, seemed utterly obscene and untrue.

The idea of kissing Bannon, a caress that felt so right with Auron, seemed misplaced with this man. And he couldn't explain why. The man had asked for it, and Seymour had always pleasured him to his most lustful liking. And always with enthusiasm and lust of his own. But now, although Bannon was asking for something so simple, it seemed like he was asking for the world.

Bannon waited for a moment, studying Seymour's every change in expression, before he shook his head and raised his hand to cup the man's cheek. "Do you know why I stay here? Why I put up with all of your arrogance? Why changed your diapers, when I was barely out of my own? Perhaps mainly it is because of my own idiocy. But I also love you, my dear friend. And I would put up with you for the rest of my life, if I thought for a moment that you wanted me to. But, I can see that it would not matter to you one way or the other."

Shaking his head, Seymour gripped the hand at his cheek, holding it there. "The truth in that statement is severely lacking. You are my friend. Always."

"But you don't love me." Seymour was about to shake his head again in denial, but the Guado continued, "As more than friend, I mean." Then a grin brought out the dimple in man's chin, and in an apparent complete retreat of his previous statements, Bannon chided, "The truth is, my love for you is lacking as well. You are my friend, my lover, but I fail to believe that I could put up with you every moment of the day, as your new friend seems prepared to do." A blue brow shot up. Bannon smirked. "You have never even shared -my- bed. I do believe this man has you trapped."

The teenager grinned back with a frown, confused with this sudden reversal. "Ah, quite the contrary, I am the one who is trapping him."

"Sir Auron is leaving, is he not? And I can already see your distrust, my predictable Lord. I knew not until a few days ago. But at the time, I had not realized it was necessary to tell you. It had been only a rumor before. No one truly believed that this warrior monk would run off with a traitor to Yevon, a man who had married an Al Bhed. You really do know how to pick them."

"I know," Seymour murmured through a smirk as he released the hand at his cheek and tied the sash off at his waist.

Bannon dropped his hand as well, and helped straighten the collar and bow. "I -am- your mother. Death to you if you deny it. Now give me a kiss and mean it, so I can get on with my life."

Seymour frowned, hesitant and still confused, but then bent over and kissed his friend's lips, Bannon's separating slightly to meet his. They were so soft. Seymour pulled back.

Bannon sighed. "My life is now complete." Seymour snorted. "I will tell the seamstress to fix your robe. Just leave it on your bed. For now, you have a conference to attend in another hour. Several un-crafty diplomats like yourself will be there. You have had the same meeting many times over. Just pretend to be interested, all right?"

Seymour nodded and watched his friend who turned around and walked to the door. He combed a hand through his hair and followed after.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

"Well, that is my thinking." Lady Cibel leaned forward, resting her forearms on the conference table. Her hand moved slightly to emphasize every important word and point as she talked. If the movement had been too large, she would have come off as ignorant or presumptuous. But her movements were just enough to convey intelligence. "Every time I receive market reports, I hear maybe the weather is a little bit better and the price goes down. People are still afraid there are surpluses. I think it is partly our market system, price-setting system, which is at fault. We need better control and to organize production and get away from these surpluses.

"I know it is an idealistic sort of approach, but I think that producers, the farmers, have to do it because they are the ones who have their livelihoods at stake. The council, and perhaps the economists, know the situation as well. Every region must get together and encompass all of Spira in this solution."

"Yes," Maester Mika said as he nodded, smiling warmly. "We have to cooperate with other cities and villages. I think this is a longer-term solution. I know it is not the immediate solution, but it does strike at the root of the problem."

Seymour watched the woman nod her agreement with the High Maester's words. This handsome redhead was the only reason he had managed to stay awake for the previous two hours. Her enthusiasm and jitters were all too amusing. While she was clearly intelligent and well-versed in her knowledge, it was also clear that committee discussions were seldom placed in her schedule. He could vision her with her hands and clothing covered in grim, relishing in the fragrant soil of the ground as the wind tossed up her hair. She certainly didn't belong here. It seemed cruel to lock her up inside the stone walls of the building.

Silver eyes looked between the people in the room. They all seemed to not notice this beauty for what she was. Then again, maybe they did and that was why she had been scheduled to go last, just to torture her a bit.

Seymour sighed, then cleared his throat. Eight pairs of eyes latched onto him. "I do believe you are completely correct, my Lady. I would like to ask you if you feel that a cost-of-production formula is a solution? Or would that encourage more production and add to the surpluses that you see as a problem."

"Thank you, my Lord." The woman smiled. "And yes, I think it will just add to the problem. We have to see if we cannot have a more controlled sort of style and not have the surpluses and not have our prices going down, trying to produce less in cost production."

Maester Mika straightened and clasped his hands together. "Thank you, Lady Cibel, for your presentation and for having the patience to wait this long to share your ideas."

"You do indeed win the prize for outlasting everyone else," Seymour said through a grin, earning another smile from her, and a few not-too-well-hidden glares from the others.

Another man, who had arrived from Besaid earlier that morning, chuckled his amusement. "Here, here. Whether the Chair likes it or not, we are going to clap."

The claps were slow to come from a few of them, but soon enough, they echoed off of the stone walls of the conference room. The woman nodded but seemed to want to sink into the framework of her chair.

Now it was Maester Mika's turn to clear his throat. The room quickly quieted. "That concludes the list of presenters that I have before me. Are there any other persons in attendance who wish to make a presentation?" He looked around the room. Mercifully no one spoke up. "That concludes the business before the committee this morning. I would like to thank all the members of the public and the members of the committee for their participation. Good afternoon and a safe trip back home for several of you."

Most stood up, their eagerness to get out the door a little too evident for Seymour not to raise an eyebrow. He began to stand up as well, but then Mika spoke to him from across the table.

"Lord Seymour, if you have some time, I would like to discuss a few matters with you in private." When the half-Guado said an affirmative, he added, "Good. I will have my assistant take you to my office. I will be up shortly. Please feel free to make yourself comfortable until my arrival."

The Summoner stood up as the Maester walked to a small group of people. He barely had enough time to breathe before a towering man suddenly appeared at his side. He had to fight the urge to fall back in retreat, as he looked up for the first time since he had arrived in Bevelle. Hate was not a strong enough word to convey what he felt when servants moved in their ultra-quiet ways. Bannon had long before given up the habit when he saw how much it made Seymour jump. Of course, the man still did it occasionally just to aggravate him.

The man gestured graciously to the door. Seymour glared at him as he untangled his robes from the chair and marched passed him. He thought he heard a snort and rolled his eyes. There -was- a good reason not to talk in front of servants, even though most masters seemed to forget that their hired-hands had ears and mouths, not to mention brains.

Lady Cibel turned her attention away from the group and nodded to him as he walked passed. He gave her a brilliant smile but didn't stop his march. Too soon, he was alone in the hallway with the beast of a man and being led down towering hallways and a throb-inducing number of stairs, until they arrived at the more extravagant end of the palace.

The room he was left alone in spread out before him, offering hours' worth of relics and paintings to examine. Books lined various shelves, the old paper flooding the air with their perfume, and practically left him drooling. So much knowledge sat right at his fingertips. Perhaps maybe even the answers he was so desperately searching for.

The teenager glanced to the closed door and listened intently. No sound reached him.

Lips pursed for a moment, before he strolled over to a shelf, assuring himself that Mika -had- told him to make himself comfortable. What better way to get comfortable than with one's hands wrapped around the leather binding of a book.

His eyes scanned over the various titles, seeing many he'd never read before. Finally, one in particular caught his eye: 'Rogues of the Calm Lands'. He knew of the Calm Lands, the place where the battles with Sin usually took place. In fact, he had spent several days wandering through it with his mother years before. It was a land far away from any sizable population, and gave the summoners ample room to meet their death. He plucked the book from the shelf and walked over to a chair. He gasped when the soft cushion nearly half swallowed him when he sat down.

Seymour cleared his throat in embarrassment and glanced around the room once more. No sounds reached him. No prying eyes hid in the corners. Hopefully. He bit his lip and let lithe fingers page through the book, reading each page with a downward stroke of his eyes. He had read nearly fifty of the hand-written pages before the door opened.

Maester Mika stepped inside and smiled graciously at him. "I am glad to see you have found a way to keep your mind stimulated during your wait. You are, of course, welcome to read any book you like. But for now, heir of Jescal, I would appreciate your company."

"Of course." Seymour closed the book and leaned forward to place the book on the coffee table, straining against the plush cushion that seemed only to be sucking him into its depths.

Mika seemingly floated as he crossed the room, his stiff long robe concealing the motions of his legs. He sat down on a high-back chair standing several meters away from the summoner. All of his motions reminded Seymour of water. Nonetheless, the blue-haired man could feel his anxiety rising. No matter how much respect the High Maester had, the half-Guado honestly didn't feel any trust for this man.

After Mika folded his hands on his lap, and looked calmly to the teenager for a moment, he said, "I do know from our past conversations that you like to get right to the point, so I will do so and save us both some grief. It has come to my attention that you have been spending time with one of our warrior monks. A man named Auron. I will admit that this troubles me, as it does your father."

Silver eyes flared for a moment before Seymour killed the reaction. It shouldn't have been surprising. His life had never been a secret. Privacy was certainly an illusion.

The only secret he held was of his mother's soul trapped in stone. Of course, he realized then, as this man eyed him, trying to pry into his mind, that perhaps he was fooling himself where his mother was concerned as well.

"Sir Auron has rebelled against Yevon, the council, all of Spira. Nonetheless, in spite of his insubordination, he is an important man in Bevelle. Surely you know of our plans to place him at my right hand. His death in serving this traitor to Yevon would be a folly." The High Maester's smooth face tightened into a grotesque frown. "Lord Braska, while a good man in appearance, has deserted Yevon and his teachings. The man married an Al Bhed, an unclean race of people who use unholy Machina for their own vile purposes. You must understand that Yevon would never grant this man the Final Aeon. The summoner willingly removed himself from Yevon's circle and will only be an outcast, as will his daughter. Lord Braska will -not- defeat Sin, and Sir Auron will die in vain as he guards the summoner on this foolish endeavor."

Seymour was speechless. While he knew of Braska's marriage, it had never occurred to him that the summoner might not be granted the Final Aeon. He had thought the man to be good, and he knew the love bond between Braska and Auron was strong. The thought had simply never occurred to him that Yunalesca might reject Braska, no matter how good his intentions. A rejection could only mean death, as Mika seemed to be insinuating. He saw the truth in it.

"I have called you here, Lord Seymour, because I feel that you may have some leverage over Sir Auron. Talk to him. Granted, we will take him back with nothing less than a formal apology to the council, but if he does not wish to marry Sir Julien's daughter, then the whole matter of marriage will be forgotten. All we ask for is an apology."

"My Lord, that is extremely generous of you." Seymour was genuinely surprised by the offering. Most people weren't given the chance to redeem themselves. But then he paused to frown, looking at the book on the coffee table that almost grazed his knees. "But I fear that Sir Auron will never release his obligation to Lord Braska. He is deeply in love with the man, as they are childhood friends. He would not abandon him so readily, no matter my relationship with him. But..."

"But?"

The teenager lifted his gaze to make eye contact with Mika. "Well, perhaps, if someone equal in ability to Sir Auron were to become Lord Braska's guardian, and Sir Auron approved, well..."

The man grinned, and Seymour wasn't sure to whether to be encouraged or terrified. "Excellent idea, my Lord. Excellent. As you are his friend, perhaps it would be best if you were to present this idea to him."

The blue-haired man let his gaze drop again, and nodded slowly. "Yes, perhaps."

"Good. Be sure to inform me of Sir Auron's decision. Lord Braska will have a guardian suited for him before the week has ended."

Seymour shoved himself upright, trying his best to conceal the considerable effort to get out of the chair. For the first time in days, he actually found himself hopeful. "I will let you know as soon as I have his decision. Thank you for your generosity, Maester Mika. Surely Yevon will guide us through this to its proper end." He performed the prayer gesture, and walked to the door, meticulously planning the words that would convince Auron of something he knew deep down that the man would never agree upon.

But denial was a powerful thing.

 

 

**Chapter 8: Unwelcome Farewells**

 

Shedding the stiff, bulky robe as he wandered across his bed chamber, Seymour eyed the clothing on his bed. The article was the robe he had been wearing yesterday, the one he had torn during his confrontation with Bannon that morning. Miraculously enough, it was apparently mended, neatly pressed, and folded into a compact bundle on his bed. That woman was amazing and probably paid extremely well knowing Bannon.

The thing itself though was abominably colorful in its embellishments and embroidery. He wouldn't have been terribly sad to see it missing for a week. Nevertheless, while most all of his other clothing seemed to have the goal of molding him into its shape, whenever he slipped this particular monstrosity on, the otherwise soft cloth formed itself to the wideness of his shoulders and chest and the narrowness of his hips. The fit left nothing of his shape to the imagination. Auron's lustful eyes drinking up his every line and curve, not to mention their immediate b-line to Auron's bed, had been well worth the embarrassment of resembling a walking kaleidoscope.

The half-Guado considered putting it back on just to see if Auron's reaction would be repeated. 'Then, in Auron's moment of lust, I'll convince the glassy-eyed monk to stay with me forever!'

Snorting, Seymour shook his head. The idea was cleanly tossed out of his mind. He wanted Auron to be reasonable when he spoke to him. In gaining his acceptance in any other way, Seymour was only asking for a backlash of anger when Auron realized the deception.

Even after an hour of walking through the palace, and another through the summoners' quarters, he hadn't figured out a foolproof way of convincing Auron to accept Maester Mika's proposal. He tried not to think about the fact that Auron would probably never agree to any proposal, no matter how reasonable it was. The very attributes that he loved so dearly about his friend were the very qualities that were going to take Auron away from him.

And there was only one week left.

Seymour let out a shaky breath and started to walk away from the bed when he noticed something on his pillow. The small white envelope laid so delicately there was barely the size of his palm. It was hardly dangerous. Nonetheless, the oddness of its presence made him hold his breath for a moment.

"A love-letter from the seamstress, maybe," he questioned the folded robe lying in front of him.

After a quick shake of his head, he snatched up the letter, and stared at it. Could it be from Auron, he wondered, but he shrugged off the idea rather quickly. He didn't even know if the warrior monk could read and write. Illiteracy was uncommon among the lower classes. Perhaps that was what kept them so well in check, ripe for domination.

A wariness grew in the pit of his stomach. Careful fingers opened up the seal and slid out the single sheet of folded paper. He unfolded it with an unbearable slowness, but from past experiences with little white envelopes, he already knew he didn't want to read what was written. The beautiful script on the paper confirmed his suspicions. The handwriting was in his own language, meticulously written by Bannon. He only got such letters when his father was particularly perturbed with him. Or when the man had a new requirement that his son had to satisfy immediately by putting every other obligation to the side.

Seymour sighed and was about to start reading when something occurred to him: Bannon was here in Bevelle. How could the man be taking dictation from his father? Could it have taken so long to arrive? Had Bannon merely forgotten about it in his luggage?

Now frowning, the teenager began to read:

 

Dearest Seymour,

I have been dwelling upon this for weeks, perhaps months. So please think carefully on what I write, and take it into your heart as the truth. You are my friend, and it is only because I love you more than life itself that I am confessing this to you.

What you said this morning is the truth, and it is not. I am not your mother, but it feels as if I am.

Nonetheless, be rest assured that I will no longer treat you as a child. Please understand that the only way this can be achieved is if I leave Bevelle. I know now that I only impede on you, that I can offer you no true solace or companionship.

It was of my own will that I came to Bevelle, to care for you. I was so fearful for you, Seymour, that I gave your father no choice in the matter. The glower twisting his face gave me nightmares for a week, I might add. And now I go back home the same way, thinking only of you.

Please forgive me for not saying goodbye, but I feared your eyes on me would kill my motivation to leave you.

As for this morning, I must confess to my fraudulent words. Truly, my beautiful Lord, you are the blindest person I have ever met. Can you hear me laughing? I do love you. More than as a friend. That you believed me when I said I did not, well, that only proves my point that your love for me falls short of my own for you. I refuse to allow myself to be hurt by you, especially when it was never your intention to do so. And this hurts. I cannot help it. It hurts.

Stay strong in spirit and your convictions as you always have. You are the hope for our race. Use this time to broaden your mind and your understanding of the world before your father passes his legacy onto you.

May Yevon keep you out of trouble.

All my love,

Bannon

 

Seymour stared at it, sure that he had read wrong. He read it again, then again, before he turned around and unsteadily sat down on the bed. The words were unreal.

"This has to be a joke," he whispered under his breath. "He would never... just leave me."

While they'd had their separations, those times had never lasted longer than a month, as Bannon preformed the duties expected of him. Those times in the Baaj Temple without his friend, keeping him company, bringing life into focus, caressing him without a thought to himself, had been some his darkest moments. He bit his lip. Hadn't he ever noticed before what those moments meant to him? Had he ever said thank you?

"By Yevon. I am blind."

He felt sick. His mind played over and over again their conversation from that morning. Bannon had all but tattooed Seymour's name on his chest, trying to get him to open his eyes. The teenager just hadn't seen it. He had been too absorbed in his own life to even glance at that of his friend's.

"Yevon strike me down. What a terrible wretched fool I am!" He brought his knees against his chest and rocked as tears pooled in his eyes. But then he stopped just a moment later. "But maybe... Maybe he has yet to leave Bevelle."

Without another thought, he thrust himself off of the bed, yanked his robe back on, raced across the room to the door, and wrenched it open. The stone hallway spread out seemingly endlessly in both directions. Blue hair swung out wildly as he whipped his head to look in either direction.

The realization struck him hard that he had not a clue where Bannon's room was. He didn't know who to ask. Bannon usually took care of those type of errands.

Seymour was helpless. He growled through gritted teeth.

To him, one direction was a good at the other, so he went to the left. The hours that followed, bringing him to the outskirts of Bevelle, left his stomach aching from hunger, as much as from the pain of coming to the realization that Bannon had left hours before. Bannon had left without saying even goodbye, went to a place where the summoner couldn't follow.

His back slid down the splintery trunk of a tree to sit unceremoniously on the filthy ground. Soundless sobs pained his face. He didn't want to hear the pathetic sound, but couldn't seem to stop his body from shaking.

Seymour knew he didn't deserve a goodbye.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

Silver eyes cracked open, and blinked up at the night's sky. Muscles tried in vain to move, but the task was disturbingly difficult. His body seemed to be one enormous cramp. And why in Spira was he outside, apparently lying on the ground, he wondered, exasperated. Then he remembered.

A robe covered arm swung itself over his face to cover up a groan. He held it there, hoping the dense fabric would create a lack of oxygen and he could sleep again. No such luck though. The night animals and close sounds of civilization refused to release their hold on his mind. Growling anew, he tossed himself on his hands and knees, and forced himself to stand on wobbly legs. Dizziness swam through his head. His body swayed, coming dangerously close to falling over, before he found comfort in resting his forehead against a tree trunk.

His face tense, Seymour shook his head, rubbing it against the bark, trying to keep tears at bay. The veins on his forehead complained through the harsh treatment, which only made him grind all the harder. Pain. It felt wonderful. Anything to get rid of the burning death in his heart.

Seymour couldn't have counted the minutes he spent standing there, torturing his body, but eventually life called him out of his depression, as it always did. He trudged through the trees and to the man-made structures.

The city grew upwards and across. Even the night found itself incapable of detouring the activity of the community. Faceless people hurried passed him in every direction. They ran around with a purpose only they understood. The city appeared to have no order. No true meaning. For all of its size and density, Seymour found nothing tangible inside.

Not with his friend missing, permanently missing, anyway.

Without even realizing it, he found himself walking down a familiar hallway where the summoners and monks of Bevelle resided. Slim hands formed fists. His heart trembled. Then he stopped in front of Auron's bed chamber door. No sound crept though the thick wood. Perhaps Auron wasn't there. He found himself both hopeful and dreading the prospect.

"I-I just cannot lose another..."

Thin lips formed a tight line to keep from sputtering out a sob. Seymour pressed his palms against the door, high above his head. Hot lines spilled down his cheeks.

"Seymour."

Gasping, the teenager flung himself away from the door and stumbled back a few steps. His pace picking up, Auron crossed the remaining distance between them in the hallway. Concern wrinkled his normally smooth skin. Brown eyes widened slightly when the monk caught sight of his face. Seymour realized what he was seeing and wiped harshly at the wetness on his cheeks. The bruises on his forehead couldn't be helped.

Auron was nearly close enough to embrace him when he stopped and reached out a hand to grasp the half-Guado's arm. "Seymour, are you all right? What happened to your face?" He paused to grab hold of the arm that was still wiping at a blushed cheek. "What stupid questions to be asking out in a hallway. Do you want to come inside?"

The older man didn't give him a chance to accept or reject the offering. Instead, he tightened his grip on Seymour's arm, opened the door, and dragged him inside.

A dim lamp illuminated the bed chamber, just enough to see the artifacts and furniture the monk had collected during his time in Bevelle. They were simple, small items and couldn't hide coldness of the stone walls. A large bed stood close to the balcony, as it was the first place Auron headed when he woke up in the morning. Seymour could have woken up every morning to Auron's lovely backside as the sun glittered over his skin and hair.

Whisked away from the memories, Seymour found himself seated on a chair, Auron taking up one across the circular table.

"I've been looking for you for nearly an hour. I wanted to take you down to the kitchen and cook you so much food that your gut would burst, but well..." Auron reached out and combed his hand through a long lock of hair. "What's wrong? What happened to you?"

Seymour let out a short burst of laughter that almost resulted in a terrible racking sob. "I... I just wanted to stay with you tonight."

"You know you're always welcome."

"Until you run off with your friend," the teenager muttered through a sudden glare. Auron dropped his arm and shook his head, mumbling something under his breath. Seymour gritted his teeth. "It is the truth, is it not? You will not come back. That you deny something all of Spira has accepted as absolute; the absurdity of it astounds me!"

A tiredness seemed to age Auron as he collapsed against the framework of the chair. Two thick hands raked their way through ebony locks.

Seymour couldn't take his eyes off of him, afraid Auron would vanish if he did. He pressed his lips together, trying his best to stop the tears that he just couldn't seem to banish. When Auron finally made eye contact again, the teenager let out a small, tearful huff. Under his breath, Seymour whispered, "Please. I just - I just will not be able to bear it if you leave me too."

"Who left you?" Auron frowned. "You mean your mother?"

A soft bout of musical laugh found its way out of the half-Guado's mouth. "Yes. Yes and no. Well, no... You see, I lost someone dear to me today because I'm blind to the world and all of the people in it. You never met him, but he's been my friend since my first childhood memory. I listened, but didn't listen to him. I rejected him and had no clue that I had done it. And I can't even follow after him... Even if I could, he would send me right back!" Finally, Seymour looked away, chewing on his lower lip, rubbing upper his arms vigorously, no longer able to stand the dark eyes watching him intently.

"You love him."

Seymour smiled and huffed out a half-hysterical burst of laughter. "Yes! Yes, I love him! And I listened to him tell me that he loved me, but by Yevon, I was so consumed with you that I... No. No, it had nothing to do with you. This has been going on longer than these last three weeks. I have no idea how long he has held me in such high regard. And I tell you, I have not a clue as to why he would! That man, I swear, he just..."

Dropping his face onto his hands, he didn't notice Auron standing up to crouch in front of him. He felt hands on his knees and raised his head. Warm, compassionate eyes killed the little control Seymour had. He reached out and grabbed Auron by the collar, and forced his lips onto his friend's. The monk let out a surprised gasp but quickly matched Seymour's aggressiveness. Lithe fingers shot down and grabbed at Auron's belt. It was undone before the other man realized it was happening. Auron willingly shrugged out of his robe. Seymour was already loosening his own when the older man reached out to help. The task was less than coordinated, but they managed somehow. Seymour shoved him back. The monk stumbled to his feet and found his hand grabbed, as the taller man led him hurriedly to the bed.

Tearing his own robe off, Seymour sat down on the edge of the mattress. He quickly untied the black pants in front of him, yanking them to Auron's knees. Without hesitation, he took the hard length into his mouth, sucking it greedily and forcefully, quickly bringing the cock to a full erection. Auron moaned passionately with every movement, as if they hadn't had sex for weeks, twining his fingers through blue locks. The man then groaned when Seymour pulled back to yank his own pant off, kicking off his boots as well. Completely naked, Seymour laid back on the bed, legs open, dragging a continuously surprised Auron with him.

"Fuck me. Please. Hurt me. Make this pain go away!"

Auron tried to catch his breath. It was all obviously happening way too fast for him to grasp what was going on. "Seymour, what are you-"

"FUCK!" Seymour reached around them, gripped Auron's cock, and shoved it into himself. His body was in no way relaxed. Without proper lubrication, the pain was exquisitely hot. He sobbed though it all. He twisted his hips, driving the erection in further. "Please. Make it hurt! Please!"

Suddenly Auron was fighting him, trying to pin him. Seymour clawed at his back and arms, drawing lines of blood from thin scratches.

"By Yevon, Seymour, stop this! STOP IT!"

Auron shifted his weight, breaking the connection between them, bringing more blinding, wonderful pain, but at the same time, leaving Seymour empty. After a relentless battle, Auron managed to pin his arms at his sides. Seymour bucked at the restraint, needing something, anything.

"Please don't stop. Please don't stop!"

"SEYMOUR, LOOK AT ME!" Auron's voice cracked, and he added more softly, "You fucking bastard, look at me!"

The forceful, blood-stopping grips on Seymour's arms barely squelched his need. He needed more. It couldn't stop. It just couldn't. "Please, Auron, please. Please." The death grip didn't slacked or tighten. Seymour could only twist at the man that held him down, his body, his soul, in agony.

Too soon, exhaustion crippled his muscles and breaths. He resorted to merely sobbing into the blanket at the side of his head that was folded up against his face.

"Seymour, do you hear me? Listen to me." Auron's breath was ragged as he choked out the words. He mumbled out a string of words that Seymour didn't bother listening to. Carefully, cautiously, Auron released one of his arms and wiped the soft lock of bangs off of the younger man's damp face and onto the blanket. The hand then came back to wipe at Seymour's tightly closed eyes. "Bloody hell... I'd cross eternity to make love to you, Seymour, if that's what you wanted me to do. But -never- will I take you like that. I don't care how much you want it! Do you understand me? I will not be some tool of yours."

The younger man laid there, immobile, not wanting to listen, not caring what the man had to say. None of it mattered. They were all going to leave him. Everyone. His pain didn't matter. It certainly didn't matter to this man who looked at him as if he were going crazy.

Oh yes, he was going crazy. Seymour laughed at the idea. His body hurt. His face hurt. But he laughed and laughed. Auron watched the spectacle. Seymour watched him watch the spectacle. But he just couldn't stop laughing. Soon tears streamed down his face, those dreadful, awful tears that just wouldn't go away. Sitting on his knees between Seymour's legs, Auron's hands rubbed at his cheeks. The wetness came back as soon as those thick calloused hands could sweep it away. Finally, the teenager couldn't stand the soft caresses any longer. He gripped the hands to his cheek and held them there.

"Please stop... You must think my mind is lost to me."

Auron smiled sadly. "I was thinking: maybe we should try something different here. We've been trying to fit a lifetime worth of sex into two weeks, and I think it's killing us both." The man pulled away, Seymour letting his hands go, and stood up to finish taking his clothes off. The scratches on his body were already scabbing over. "How about this: tell me something that makes you smile. Like about your friend you were talking about. Or your mother. Or just anything."

The monk reached down, helped Seymour to stand upright, pulled back the covers, and urged Seymour into the bed. The younger man complied obediently, too worn out to even consider putting up a fight. Auron walked around to the other side of the bed and got in. He rolled onto his side, facing the taller man, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well?"

"Is this school or something?"

Auron snorted and flopped onto his back. "Okay, I'll start. Let's see, about three years ago, I was visiting a temple to pay my respects and such. I used to travel quite a bit, when I was still a healer. Well, besides paying my respects, I was also there to witness a ceremony. I'd heard rumors that bordered on unbelievable in the places I'd traveled. They said there was a summoner who moved as if he was the wind itself. I wanted to see it with my own eyes. You have to understand that at the time I didn't think -anyone- could possibly cause my heart to pound the way Braska did when he danced.

"When this boy walked out to the middle of the arena, everyone watching seemed to stop breathing. Even the air seemed to still. I'd never thought before that such a sad face could exist on someone so young. So beautiful. You see, it was the anniversary of his mother's death."

Seymour jerked his head to look at the man lying beside him, unbelieving of what he was saying. Auron seemed purely lost in his thoughts.

"Fourteen years old. I almost cried at the mere sight of him. Then he closed his eyes and brought the air back to life. The way he danced... I could never find the words to give its beauty justice. His every motion, his every shallow breath, brought me to life in a way healing others never had. I was in love."

Auron snorted then and looked to him. "It was all I could do to not run up to this fantastic treasure and kiss away every one of the tears that glistened on his cheeks after the dance was over.

"You took all of their breaths away, Seymour. The only thing that held me back was, well, the fact that I was a complete stranger. A twenty year old stranger at that. I didn't think the priests hovering like mothers around you would take too kindly to me kissing your flushed cheeks."

Seymour licked his lips, feeling a blush coloring his skin. "You-you watched me?"

"Is that so shocking? Many people watched you on that day."

"Yes, but -"

"But?"

Growing exasperated, Seymour shook his head and looked back to the ceiling. "But how can you say you loved me? Why... Why do you say such things? Why do you think you love me? I just... really fail to understand it."

"Oh. Is that all?" Auron chuckled out, bringing a glower from Seymour. Sighing, he brought his arms behind his head and looked to the ceiling as well. "Well, actually, it's a good question. To me, love isn't a physical reaction. I mean, the physical feels good and all, but it's not what makes me smile. Watching you dance made me smile. And cry. And throb with pain. You brought out so many parts of me that I didn't even know I had. Or I'd forgotten I had. Those minutes were some of the happiest and saddest of my life. I never forgot you."

"So you love me because I dance? Should I advise you that I no longer dance for anyone? For any reason. Would you still love me," Seymour asked through his tightened throat.

"Seymour, I -do- love you. That's just one of the things I love about you. I love your determination. Your sacrifice. Your humor. Your will. Your obnoxious little frown you get. You have to understand that I love Braska, yes. My friend helped me through my worst times. But he didn't make me feel alive. It was the healings that made me feel alive.

"When I saw you. When I fell in love with a fourteen year old at first glance, I felt beyond alive. I felt every part of myself quicken with life." Auron turned his head again, letting brown eyes fill Seymour's body with warmth. "Whenever I'm with you, I feel that. It's not just because you danced. I feel it now, lying here with you. I can only hope that I please you half as much as you please me."

Seymour shifted his head to look at his friend again. Then he found himself edging up to him, pressing himself against the strong body, overlapped his leg over the taut stomach. Auron shifted an arm from behind his head, and wrapped it around Seymour's back, holding him closer.

Just a whisper against Auron's cheek, he said, "You please me, Auron. So much that it hurts. But what exquisite pain it is. I love you more than I can stand." He kissed the soft cheek, before adding, "Please. Please don't leave. Lie if you have to. But please just tell me you won't leave me. Just for tonight."

"Seymour..." Auron let out a shaky breath, then pressed his lips together. The moment lengthened, before the monk finally whispered, "I will come back."

 

 

**Chapter 9: The Purity of Dance**

 

Seymour slouched in the chair, stretching out his legs to the other side of the circular rug, and munched on an unripe apple. The tartness stuck to his tongue, threatening to make him cough, but he enjoyed the flavor. It was a welcome change from the sweetness of the normal diet of the people in Bevelle.

His eyes remained glued to the man a short distance in front of him, his mind trying to drown out the memories of the day before with the sight of a hard, sweating body. The training session had been going on for nearly an hour. While Seymour appreciated the sight, he couldn't help but notice the distance that had formed between them since the night before. Or rather, the distance -he- had formed between them.

Auron moved as if he was dancing. His sword looped through the air--the man's only partner--like an extension of his muscular arms. The thrusts, kicks, and blocks told the story of battle and hardship. Seymour could now easily understand why Auron's room held so few artifacts. Even so early in the morning, the monk was dedicated to a fault in everything he did, whether in friendship or combat. He had no need for clutter. Not to mention, the man's sword was so absurdly long; Auron needed all the room he could get.

The night before, Seymour felt Auron had been justified in his response. The half-Guado had never wanted Auron to lie on purpose, despite what he had asked him to do. Nonetheless, with Auron's refusal to lie, the hard truth had been nailed into Seymour's mind. Auron was leaving. Auron promised to come back. The latter was absurd, but Seymour was tired of trying to relay that to the hard-headed monk.

There was also the embarrassment factor. He had -never- purposely brought another into his little habits before. Over his life, he had become an expert in finding excuses to explain the sudden appearance of bruises. His physical training was a classic. But usually, he was much more careful in preventing any sign of self-abuse. He was sure the buildup of the past three weeks was at fault for his lapse. He was slipping. Losing it.

If Auron just wasn't leaving, Bannon already gone. Seymour's jaw clenched, body tense at the thoughts. His relationship with Auron was the best and worst thing that could have happened to him.

Nevertheless, despite all of his anguish over the night before, Seymour once again couldn't get Auron's story out of his head. A corner of his wide mouth edged up. The ex-healer had watched him dance three years prior. He had no idea why the idea pleased him so much. Perhaps because it was something concrete between them. Something Seymour had complete control over.

A half smile softened his face. It was also something Auron loved about him that made sense. Seymour loved to dance, but since the ceremony three years prior, all will to do it had left him. The boy he had been had wanted to be left alone, to be forgotten, and his body had told too much of his sorrow. The only way to keep everyone away had been to lock it up inside, never dancing, and acting like the perfect little half-Guado summoner, minus the guardian. It had worked remarkably well. Most people didn't want to see others' pain. They were too wrapped up in their own to bother.

Seymour hadn't realized until last night how much he had missed telling stories, displaying his emotions for everyone to see, with the movements of his body. Now sitting there in the chair watching Auron, his body ached with the need to move.

Three years was definitely too long to neglect the one thing that made him feel free.

Without another thought, Seymour put his apple on the table, stood up, and walked up to his friend. Luckily the warrior monk was keenly aware of everything around him, as he stopped in mid-motion as a downward swipe came right at the taller man's shoulder.

"Do you mind if I practice for a while?"

Breathing heavily, Auron raised a brow at him, obviously curious. Seymour had never been a morning person, and Auron already knew that. "Of course. Just let me catch my breath here." Auron stood there, his chest heaving, and watched Seymour in clear appreciation as the younger man removed his unbelted robe and tossed it onto a nearby chair. The half-Guado then raised a brow at him. Auron snorted. "I'm going. I'm going."

Auron collapsed more than he sat down on the chair Seymour had been seated, propped his sword against the wall behind himself, and began munching on the half-eaten apple. Cringing a bit at the taste, Auron took another bite and waited expectantly for Seymour to begin his exercises.

Seymour himself suddenly wondered what on Spira he was doing. The impulse had seemed right a minute before. If Auron just wasn't watching him so closely. Of course, he himself had watched the older man. The old rule of fairness popped into his head.

The summoner sighed and closed his eyes. Even after all the years, he instantly found the warmth in his soul as if he had never forgotten about it. The room became quiet in his stillness. Even Auron's breaths seemed to disappear, although he could still feel his dark gaze caressing his half-naked body. A swelling grew in his stomach. It filled his heart, then his veins. The warmth brought his hands up into the air. A bare foot came forward to touch its toes to the cool stone floor. And the dance began.

Seymour's body immersed itself into the feel of the movement and the air around his flushed skin, the dance suddenly roaring from him as if he had never stopped. It was pure and rich motion that resonated out of his every cell, a perfect song, unattainable by a mortal's hands or voice, ringing in his head. He forgot about Auron, the room, his mother buried deep in his soul. There was nothing but the pounding and kicks of his feet, and the arcs of his arms and torso.

He drew himself into it and allowed nothing but the warmth, the peace he so strived for. Peace sang in his heart. Oh yes, he loved to dance.

The dance was relentless until his body could physically take no more. His lungs aching, he reluctantly stopped his movement but kept his eyes closed. The peace he felt charmed his mind into submission. He didn't ever what it to go away. But it would. It was inevitable. He couldn't dance forever. The only true peace was in death.

Slowly, his eyes opened. In front of him, Auron sat completely still, his face full of amazement and wonder. The apple sat dangling at his fingertips, forgotten. The man's appearance would have normally been amusing.

Neither spoke. Neither wanted to break the moment. And so they remained still as Seymour's breaths evened out.

Finally, Auron put down the apple, stood up, and walked up to him. He reached up and pulled Seymour's head down. Soft lips kissed at the wetness on his cheeks. Seymour squeezed his eyes shut. He hadn't even realized tears had fallen. He wrapped his arms around the muscular from and brought the monk against his body. By Yevon, he loved this man. How he could have ever doubted it was incomprehensible. Sure, there was always the need to save someone. It was human nature. But Seymour wanted to save -him-.

Against his cheek, he whispered, "I love you, Auron."

Dropping his arms and hugging back, Auron's whiskered chin rubbed against his neck before the man gave the skin a kiss. This man had seen the absolute worst and best in him, and still treated him as if he were the most perfect person in the world. All of who Seymour truly was had been revealed, both intentionally and unintentionally. Was Auron in denial of what he had seen in the summoner? Maybe, but Seymour doubted it.

Auron then nibbled at his neck a bit before murmuring, "You know, suddenly I'm -really- tired."

Seymour chuckled. "-Really-, hm? Actually, now that you mention it..."

He bend over and kissed his lover's soft lips imploringly. Auron more than matched his enthusiasm, taking the kiss with him as he began to walk backwards to the bed. The man's legs quickly hit the side of the mattress.

The summoner broke the kiss and weaved a hand through loose raven hair. "You know, by my count, this is my 19th or so encounter with a human. I intend to hear you scream before this is over."

"Oh really?" Auron sat down on the bed, and set to work at undoing Seymour's pants. "Now would that be from pleasure, or pure frustration?"

Seymour choked on a bit of laughter. "Hm, well, while frustration does create an admirable pitch that can remind one of agony, pleasure is only what you deserve. Or perhaps a bit of both. What do you-ah!"

Auron had taken that moment to suckle on the erection he held in strong grip at its base.

At the back of Seymour's mind, he wanted to chide Auron for his aggressiveness. This was -not- how to take it slow.

Instead, he weaved his fingers through thick raven hair, sliding it though his fingers as the man's mouth made him tremble with pleasure. The slow movements, the lapping of his tongue, were pure pleasure laced with the agony over just how slow it was. It was exquisite. And it was building to grand heights.

But, by Yevon, it was enough!

Those long fingers tightened their grips and pulled Auron back gently. "Lay down." Auron pouted up at him playfully. This man was -really- making it tough to go slow. Again, Seymour purred, "Lay down." The older man scooted back and watched Seymour as he slipped his pants off the rest of the way. Seymour straightened. A blue brow raised. "-Lay- down."

"Yes, my Lord!" Auron plopped down onto his back, the bed giving him a slight bounce.

Seymour grinned. He crawled over him, caging Auron's half naked body beneath him. Auron tried to reach for the thing that dangled between his legs, but Seymour promptly caught the wrists and pressed them down above Auron's head with a hand. Auron bucked slightly, testing the taller man's grip and strength.

"You seem to have this terrible habit of not being able to keep your hands to yourself, Sir," the half-Guado whispered, before he nipped at a whiskered chin. His other hand was busy undoing Auron's sash as his waist. "But that is easily remedied."

Without warning, he rolled Auron onto his stomach, swept away raven hair that traveled nearly half-way down the finely muscled back, and tied his arms behind his back with well-practiced dexterity. Auron's hips ground at the mattress, under Seymour's groin, and he moaned through the sheets his face was pressed against. Seymour brushed the remaining hair off of his back, revealing tanned, scar-ridden skin. He sat back to admire his work. Auron's arms formed a near-perfect box with the line of his shoulders, one wrist right above the other. The pull at his arms was enough to not allow any real freedom of motion, but neither to cause any true discomfort.

Long fingernails trailed down the curve on his spine, riding up over the cloth-covered wrists, and continued down between the crack of his clothed buttocks, bumping his own erection out of the way. The man's skin goose pimpled to attention.

"Beautiful," the teenager whispered absentmindedly.

With that, he pushed himself off the side of the bed, and reached back to pull Auron's legs off. Once his feet were on the floor, Seymour then helped him stand up. He pressed his naked body against the monk's shorter frame, and reached around to pinch a taut nipples, Auron thrusting his chest into his hands with a groan, before undoing the tie that held his lover's pants up. All the while, he trailed kisses down Auron's neck. Auron tilted his head to the side and back against his shoulder to give Seymour complete access to the vulnerable region.

Now loose, Seymour lost his hand inside the raven-haired man's pants. Auron's erection laid downwards against his thigh. Seymour brought it up carefully and out of the pants to lightly run his fingers along the length.

Precum already pooled at the tip, demanding to be tasted, but Seymour held back. He squeezed the tip though, just to see more spill out. Auron groaned throatily and twisted his head to bite at Seymour's chin, clearly demanding to be kissed. Seymour was more than happy to comply. He quickened the strokes and brought his mouth to meet Auron's. He nipped at the tongue that immediately came into his mouth, making Auron groan all the more and thrust his hips against Seymour's grip. Soon the movement of Auron's hips became a bit too obviously frantic as Seymour sucked and nibbled on his tongue. He let go of the cock without mercy.

Auron twisted his head away, dropping his chin to his chest. A whisper under his breath, Auron pleaded, "Nph, Seymour. Please."

Seymour tenderly kissed the back of his neck. "Not yet."

Slim hands pushed the pants down and the teenager crouched. Auron obediently lifted his foot up one by one. Seymour took a moment to admire the pleasant view he had. The man's legs were slightly spread, giving a peep to his testicles. The curve of his buttocks was deliciously rounded and firm. On impulse, he leaned forward and bit right where a long scar ended. Surprised, Auron yelped and tried to stumble forward, but only ended up with his knees pressed against the bed.

Seymour laughed and gave the cheek a pat.

Auron glared mockingly over his shoulder. "Not only are you a tease, but you're cruel."

"You say that with such conviction." Seymour stood up and encouraged Auron to kneel up on the bed, and pressed a hand against the middle of Auron's back, right above his tied off wrists. Auron put up little fight as he bent over. His forehead rested against the mattress. "Would you like to discover just how cruel I can be?"

"Oh yes," Auron purred back lustfully. "If your cruelty comes even close to being as beautiful as your dancing, you'll have me screaming for sure."

The responsive grin couldn't be helped. He grabbed a hold of Auron's hips. "Spread your legs then."

Immediately, his lover's legs were spread until they were a little over hip width apart. There was nothing hidden from him now. Auron's testicles and erection hung down with the arch of his hips. The man's tight entrance begged to be played with. With one long fingernail, he traced the hole. Auron gasped at the stimulation, arching his hips all the more, encouraging him. Seymour smiled.

Crouching down again at the side of the bed, Seymour brought one hand to tenderly clutch the balls that hung down, fondling the loose skin with his fingers. Auron watched him from between his legs with heavily lidded eyes. His breath was heavy through his nose as he bit his bottom lip.

The teenager grinned and leaned forward. His tongue and teeth ran along the underside of a buttock, teasing the sensitive flesh. When he reached the crack, he drew up with one long stroke, then back down with a feather-light stroke, deliberately running over his lover's anus. Auron bucked his hips slightly. His moan was muffled by clenched teeth. Seymour slowly worked his way back, licking and nipping an inner thigh. Once he got back to the man's entrance, he licked lightly at it, just to see Auron's reaction. The older man groaned weakly, begging with the small movements of his hips. Seymour obliged by tonguing Auron's entrance with slow circles

Auron could only groan and tremble with every lap. Precum dripped from his cock. "Mmph. Ngh, please, Seymour. Please."

The half-Guado dipped his tongue in. Auron moaned throatily, and rotated his hips against Seymour's face. A string of obscene, but nonetheless encouraging words tumbled out of Auron's mouth. Seymour thrust his tongue in and out, lapping him, tasting the soap and sweat from his skin, thoroughly wetting the man's anus.

Soon enough, Auron was twisting at his restraints, begging loudly and desperately to be released. The need of his untouched cock was apparently growing too strong. Seymour untied his hands in an instant and rolled him over, taking the man's cock in to his mouth and sucking him with abandon. Auron wails quickly became calls for mercy from his own body. Then, with violent trembles of his body, the monk came into Seymour's mouth. His whole body stiffened repeatedly, the spirts hitting the back of the younger man's throat. Seymour swallowed what was given to him. Then all of Auron's muscles relaxed at once. His heavy breaths echoing off of the stone walls.

Seymour crawled onto the bed and laid on his side, with his head propped up on the palm of his hand, and wiped raven hair off of his lover's damp face. The man's dark eyes didn't open, giving the teenager time to admire his flushed skin. Auron's lips were cracked open as he breathed shallowly through them. Dark lashes laced the perfect curve of his eyes. The younger man brought up a finger to trace the arc of a slightly bushy brow. Auron nuzzled closer, pressing the side of his face against Seymour's chest.

"I can hear your heart," the monk breathed with barely a sound.

The half-Guado smiled and laid his head down on his arm. He breathed in deeply the freshly shampooed scent of his lover's hair.

Sleep soon drifted up over them both.

 

 

~~~ The next day ~~~

 

"You -know- you didn't have to come. I would have been back by tonight."

Breathing heavily, Seymour nodded for the fourth time that morning, although Auron couldn't see it through his back, and trudged up the incline of the branch.

What an odd way to get around, but it was the most efficient way to travel in the Macalania forest. The foliage below them was too dense to consider hiking through. Nope, it was the high roads for them.

They reached a particularly steep incline and Seymour found himself grateful for his staff. He should have worn different clothing. The long robe seemed to find every twig and branch in the forest. The fabric was going to need a good combing when they got back to Bevelle. He should have listened to Auron's suggestions, ignoring the etiquette that forced him to wear tasteful, yet barbarically uncomfortable clothing in public.

"Are you going to tell me why you insisted on coming along any time soon," Auron asked over his shoulder.

Seymour coughed and then yanked his robe that had decided to clamp onto a bulging root. "Yes, if we could stop for but a moment. *cough* This fresh air is *hack* really getting to me."

Auron's amused, arrogant chuckle crept behind him. "Really Seymour, you're not much of an outdoor person, are you? I think high life has softened you a bit too much for your own good."

"Yes, well, there is such a thing as duty. I -am- heir to-" Seymour's body flung forward, tripping on another root. Somehow he managed to keep upright. "Fuck! May Yevon burn this infernal place down!"

The monk turned around, raising a brow at him. "Really-"

"Oh, do not mess with me, Sir! I would even help Yevon do it!"

After a bark of closed mouthed laughter, Auron burst with the stuff, clutching his sides in pain. "Help us all! *laugh* His royal highness cannot walk on his own two feet. *laugh, cough* So-so let's all burn the place down! *cough, gag*"

"You, Sir Monk, are a pain in the royal ass." Seymour glared mockingly then plopped down on the trail. He'd had enough. They were going to rest -now- or Auron would find out just how serious he was. For effect and for his own amusement and sanity, he closed his eyes, and called forth a voice deep inside of himself. The voice in turn called together the elements around him. He cupped his hands in front of himself. Auron's laughter trailed off. When the summoner opened his eyes, a small ball of brilliant flames hovered above his palms.

Auron watched carefully, now more inquisitive than amused. "Remarkable."

"Yes, to think something so beautiful could be so destructive."

The man chuckled as he walked up to him. "You, Seymour. I was talking about you."

Blue brows raised as he watched his companion sit down beside him. Auron watched back just as steadily. A blush threatened to cover his cheeks. The fire disappeared as he dropped his hands. Finally, Seymour shook his head and dismissed Auron's words.

"Now, pray tell, -why- did you come along? Couldn't you have waited until I got back? I don't usually bring baggage with me on assignments."

After another mock glare, Seymour said, "Well, no, this could not wait." He gave his friend a slanted grin. "This is a matter I should have taken up with you two days ago, but other matters... Well, I must receive your answer today."

Even as he said the words, his motivation to ask was dwindling. He already knew what Auron's answer was going to be: No, he would not allow another person to become Braska's guardian. But the summoner couldn't very well lie to the High Maester of Spira and say that he had asked when he hadn't. Seymour had gotten himself into the situation. Now he had to follow through.

"Well, you must understand that the people of Bevelle, well, all of Spira revere you. As does Maester Mika. To put it bluntly, I spoke with the High Maester two days prior. He offered a most generous proposal, one that he feels would be in everyone's best interest." Seymour breathed in then let the air out harshly. Auron's expression had managed to become deathly still through his words. The teenager's mind was screaming at him that he was making a huge mistake, but now that he had started, there was no turning back. "The council would like an apology, but there will be no more talk of marriage if you don't wish it. An-and Maester Mika also feels that perhaps your guardianship of Lord Braska is, ah, better suited in the hands of another. Only someone with your approval, of course."

The warrior monk hardly even breathed. His face was expressionless. If Seymour hadn't known the man so well, he would have feared for his life at that moment. "You've discussed these matters with Maester Mika?"

"Yes, well, you see-"

"Are you trying to tell me that my life is more valuable than another's?" Auron stated the words evenly. Nonetheless, Seymour had never before heard words so blood chilling.

"Well, no. No! Of course not. I just -"

"No, I understand. It's love, right?" Auron smirked, although the expression was deathly cold. "You're trying to protect me. It's understandable, Seymour. I do understand. I've protected you. Perhaps you feel you owe me, but I assure you that you do not."

"What?!" Seymour tried to stumble upright and almost fell over the side of the trail. He collapsed down on his backside, breathing heavily. "I owe you -nothing-. I never asked for you to save me!"

"Nor am I asking you to save me." Auron stood up with remarkable ease. Seymour couldn't help but feel embarrassed with his own lack of grace. Dreadful clothing. "I'm wondering how many times I have to tell you that I will never, -never- turn my back on Braska. You coming to me with these proposals - that the council would send you to convince me disgusts me. You are their pawn, Lord Seymour. Don't you see that?"

Seymour worked his jaw up and down, shaking his head. This definitely was not going well. In fact, it was going much worse than he had ever thought it could. "Please, Auron. You must understand that what he told me is so much the truth. Have you ever thought of the possibility that Lord Braska might not be accepted by Yevon? That he will only die trying? And you will die in vain with him!"

Dark eyes flared for a brief moment. "If Yevon does not accept him, then he is not a just God. Lord Braska is the kindest, bravest soul I've ever had the privilege of knowing. If my death aids him in any way, it will be a worthwhile one." Auron shook his head, looking as if he had aged countless years in a minute. "If this is all you wished to discuss with me, go back to Bevelle. I'll be home before nightfall."

With that, Auron turned around and walked on ahead. Seymour sat there in an absolute daze. That had not gone well at all.

 

 

**Chapter 10: Gift from the Heart**

 

"Auron, stop!"

The words were out of the half-Guado's mouth even before they were a clear thought in his mind. But when Auron only continued on along the branch, he didn't find himself surprised in the least.

Seymour shoved at the ground in a crude effort to stand up. His hands caught the many layers of his robe and sash, and he spit out a curse. The thing managed to travel several inches down his upper arms by the time he was on his feet, but luckily his motions provoked no rips, sparing the seamstress from more of his glowing personality. One could have concluded rather quickly that the wearer of the garment was never supposed to sit on anything lower than a chair.

With a violent tug, the wide collar was yanked back up to his shoulders, as he stormed after the other man. The whole scene caused an uncomfortable case of Deja-Vu. It seemed like he was always chasing after this man. Perhaps he always would be.

When the summoner was close enough to grab Auron's shoulder, without even the slightest turn of his raven-haired head, his body stiff, Auron commanded once again, "Go back to Bevelle."

Seymour's ears were sealed to such demands. He had let this man order him around for far too long. Before, Auron's words had been followed out of respect and then love, but now there was simply too much at stake. And no matter what the Guardian seemed to think, Auron did -not- know what was going on.

One long-nailed hand grabbed Auron's shoulder and whipped him around in mid-step. Seymour straightened himself to his full height, hoping to intimidate the older man, but Auron merely glared up at him in contempt. Despite his own outward fierceness, Seymour's heart pounded in his chest at the dark gaze.

The Summoner knew what he himself had done minutes before: he had insulted Auron, Braska, and himself, all in a matter of a few brief moments. Auron's outrage was justifiable. But that didn't make it correct.

"You must listen to me, Auron," Seymour hissed, wishing at the same time that he himself could be calmer, more clearheaded, "Your notions are all too correct. I do wish to save you, not only because I love you, but because, well, while my withdrawal from seclusion has only been a few short weeks, I do know of your importance in Bevelle. My research has told me of your accomplishments and your place there."

Auron's eyes flared. Seymour knew what he was thinking: this teenager had been tracing every avenue to get information on him. The man was once again correct, just as Auron had also sidesteppingly accused him of it weeks before. And for Seymour to have the nerve to admin it?

At that moment though, as far as the half-Guado was concerned, Seymour's prying didn't matter to the present situation. He'd brought it up since he couldn't leave it out. He had a point to make. Seymour continued on:

"The truth hides amongst the council you so despise, but you are throwing away any chance of ever discovering it with your foolish conquest. What Lord Braska is seeking is -not- the answer he is looking for! Nor is it the answer anyone is looking for. People's hope, while beautiful in its own right, is completely misplaced in this arena."

"What you're saying makes no sense." Auron ripped his shoulder out of Seymour's grip and started down the trail again.

"By Yevon, Auron, are you so foolish?! Is death only what you seek?!"

"Quite the contrary, my dear friend," the older man said over his shoulder, "It's life I seek. And what makes you so certain I'm going to die?"

A breath of air exploding out of him, Seymour stalked after Auron with those words. Maybe there was a chance, as Auron at least suddenly seemed willing to listen. "Is it not obvious? Has anyone cared to notice that none of the Summoners and Guardians ever come back, except when they fail?"

"You came back."

"Yes, and I failed."

Auron twirled around, a frown darkening his face. "You did not fail, Seymour. You were too young to be going on the Pilgrimage in the first place. But the fact that you actually laid eyes on Lady Yunalesca, it's an honor to us all." A bitter laugh sputtered out of the half-Guado, who stopped a few steps away from the other man. Auron's frown deepened. "I don't understand your protest at all in this. Out of everyone, I would have thought -you- would understand most of all how important Braska's pilgrimage is. Any summoner's pilgrimage, for that matter."

"You are the one I fail to understand. What on Spira would make you think you have even a chance of surviving this miserable duty?"

Two brown eyes watched him carefully, before again, Auron stated evenly, "You came back."

Silver eyes widened at the simple statement. Suddenly much of Auron's actions and words made sense. Auron was sorely disillusioned. And Seymour realized then where his power laid. He had failed, but society had somehow made that failure an honor, without him even noticing. Of course, at the time, he had been too young and too buried in his own misery to care about, let alone understand, much of anything.

As Seymour burned to understand Bannon's high regard for him, his heart ached at the sudden knowledge that everything Auron had been depending on was on his shoulders.

"Auron..." The younger man's breath caught in his throat. Auron was watching him so carefully that it made him want to break down into a tearful sob. "I failed. I failed my mother. Myself. All of Spira. You must understand that! My being here is a mistake, an abomination. My mother... Her blood stains my fingers. So many people..." Seymour had to fight the urge to reach out, grab Auron by the shoulders, and shake him, all in a seemingly vain effort to get the man to think. Instead, he stiffened his body to the point that it was pained. "To place your faith in me will never be anything more than a folly."

The other man's face had managed to lose most of its expression through Seymour's disheartened words. Nonetheless, the battle raging in Auron's mind was visible in his eyes. And Seymour suddenly felt like recanting what he'd just said. Yes, he'd wanted to get the other man to think freely, but Auron's losing faith in him brought Seymour back to the time when his mother had changed into a monster. To the moment when he'd wanted nothing more than death, for both him and his mother.

Yes, he'd wanted Auron to understand, but that didn't stop Seymour's anguish.

"You must not go."

Dark eyes watched him almost vacantly before Auron turned around and walked along the path without another word. Hardly even breathing, Seymour could do nothing more than watch him go. He had said all that he could, and the other man seemed to be considering it. He had certainly gotten the reaction he'd aspired for.

Sure, there hadn't been a speckle of love in Auron's eyes, but hopefully the Guardian would never leave Bevelle. It was all Seymour could hope for.

When the crimson clad man could no longer be seen, he turned around and walked back to the city and to the summoners and monks' quarters. Standing in the hallway, it took several long minutes before long strides took him down the hallway that would lead him to Auron's bed chamber. He entered, sat down on a chair, and stared past the sheer curtains that blew in the mild breeze, past the balcony, to the fertile land that was Spira. And he thought until his brain ached, forcing his eyes to close. A short time later, he could no longer prevent his slip into sleep.

Long past dusk, the door burst open and a dark figure, only illuminated by the lights in the hallways, stumbled into the room. Seymour's eyes flashed open at the sudden noise, but were blinded by the light. Then his body jerked when the door was slammed shut. Clothes were shuffled around, taken off, then dropped and forgotten, as the person made their way to the balcony. The obviously male form shoved the billowing curtains to the side and treaded out into the open air, naked to the world.

Apparently unnoticed, Seymour sat up uneasily. His body was stiff from sleeping in the hard chair. He groaned a little, but managed to get onto his feet. Silent steps brought him over to the curtains. He pushed them aside, and was about to say Auron's name, when the said man leaned over the balcony railing and threw up. Seymour cringed at the awful sound. Dread filled him for any unsuspecting victims below, but when he heard only retching and no exclamations, he passed the curtains and walked a couple of steps closer.

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He certainly didn't want to scare his friend over the railing of the balcony. So he stood there and let Auron finish.

A minute later, without turning around, the man muttered, "Why are you here?"

The sudden words made Seymour start. Quickly though, he regrouped himself. It shouldn't have been surprising that Auron knew. He crossed his arms over his chest and murmured, "You said I was always welcome."

"Did I now?" The warrior monk turned around and eyed him coolly. "I suppose I did." Auron wiped at his mouth as he stumbled passed the alarmed half-Guado who had no choice but to dodge the careless movements. "Do you want a drink?"

"Not if your lack of grace is the result," Seymour whispered to himself and followed after. He'd never been one to drink. He despised the loss of control.

Auron stopped in the middle of the room and bent over with little dexterity to grab his jug. Seymour found himself wishing he'd fall over and get it over with, since he was already close to the ground. But the older man stood back up and staggered to the opposite side of the room.

"Shall I guess that my warnings have finally affected you?"

Auron didn't seem to hear, or perhaps was just ignoring him. He plopped down on a chair next to the table, grabbed a small glass from a nearby shelf, examined the item in the dark, and then put it back. The effort was careless though, and the thing tumbled onto the floor, breaking into several shards. The drunken man ignored it easily, as he popped the cork out and drank deeply, directly from the ceramic container.

Seymour cringed. "Please tell me your reply for Maester Mika, and I will leave at once."

Bending over and resting his elbows on his knees, Auron held the jug between his legs. Dark as the room was, the Summoner couldn't tell if Auron had his eyes open or not. "I do believe I've already given you my answer."

"What?!" Drunk as he was, even Auron jumped at his exclamation. "Have you thought about none of my words?"

Auron raised his head and the younger man knew for sure that he was being glared at. "Have you -ever- heard anything -I've- said, my dear Lord Seymour?! I've told you over and over and over and..." The words trembled off into nothing and the man took another swing.

"There is no need for you to go, Auron." Seymour walked a few steps closer, stopping just before his feet stepped on the circular rug. "A person would be pressed to find a soul in Spira who would think badly of you."

"Besides myself?" Auron huffed out a breath of air. "Nevertheless, I do believe you're correct, my friend. Braska, he doesn't want me to die any more than he wants you to... but I suppose one has to consider that I'm going to have to live with myself for the rest of my life." The man paused. Seymour tensed. Those were words that were too close to his own past. To hear Auron speak them made him ache. Auron straightened, then slouched back in the chair, before he said, his voice hard but begging, "Don't you know that my abandoning him would kill me?"

Seymour bit his bottom lip to keep from rejecting everything Auron had said, drawn cold with his friend's statement. But finally, honestly, he said, "Yes."

"But you still want me to stay?"

The half-Guado fought with threatening tears, and forced out, "No."

Apparently holding his breath, Auron let out a burst of air and dropped his head. "It's late, Seymour. Lay down. Go to sleep. I'll join you in a few minutes."

The man had no will to move. He stood there and stared at Auron's drooping head. Eventually, the Guardian took another chug, and Seymour turned away, fearful and disgusted at the same time. He laid down on the plush bed. His horrendous clothing tangled itself around him, and he fought for several enraging moments before he was comfortable enough to relax. That was, if every muscle tense and not being able to close his eyes, could have been considered relaxed.

An hour passed. Auron never rose. The jug continued to be his friend. No more words were shared between them. Seymour merely watched him through silent tears.

Eventually, despite himself, dark-lashed eyelids became all too heavy and he drifted off into sleep. When he awoke, the sun was already beaming though the curtains. No one was seated in the chair. He twisted around and saw that Auron wasn't sleeping next to him either.

"Auron?"

Silence. Nothing.

The teenager's breaths came out as heavy pants as he shoved himself off of the bed and raced to grab his staff next to the wall. Then, on the table, he saw it. It was a small note, reminiscent of the letters he got from his father. His heart stuttered, and he thought that he was going to die for sure. He reached over and picked it up. It wasn't in an envelope, so he merely cringed, unfolded it, and read the simple words, 'meet me at the gate.'

If he'd ever thought before that he knew what relief was, he'd been sorely mistaken. Apparently Auron -could- read and write. Laughter burst out of him as he pocketed the note, and then raced out the door.

Outside, after a quick change of clothes, Seymour looked past the commotion running about, and let the brilliant morning sun warm him, as the air was still cool and crisp. Trees dotted the landscape around the stone complex, softening it enough to make it comfortable to admire the building's architecture for what it was. But his present residence could never compare to his home, as the very city itself was alive, not life kept out by masonry or caged in by pots.

The Guardian was seated against a tree close to the gate. His gloved hand was rubbing his forehead, as Seymour walked up to him. No potion in Spira could completely take away the headache Auron was obviously feeling. Seymour sighed unsympathetically.

Brown eyes squinted up at him when he stopped in front of the seated man. "You're up earlier than I thought you'd be."

"Did you sleep?" asked Seymour.

Using the tree for leverage, Auron stood up, murmuring, "A little. Enough. I was more concerned about you... I wasn't expecting you to be in my room when I got back."

Seymour shrugged, an unmannerly gesture, but over the weeks with Auron, he'd found there was no need for the play of refinement. Courtesy, yes. Perfect politeness and manners, no. Of course, old indoctrinations died hard: "I apologize for intruding. I should have waited until the morning..." Then he added quietly, "But you did say you would be coming back last night."

A thick hand brushed through loose raven hair. "I know. I'd make excuses, but well, I wouldn't believe them myself. I'm not a good drinker." Auron looked away then, clearly uncomfortable with the statement.

The summoner wanted to change the subject, just to spare him. So he suggested, "Do we have plans for today? Granted I must request an audience with Maester Mika later on, but most of my day is free for your bidding."

Auron was already looking back at him, his face paler than a minute ago. Seymour smiled as graciously as he possibly could. Hesitant, Auron managed a smile back, then looked to the gate. "Well, actually, I did have something in mind, but I'd like it to be a surprise. If you're willing to amuse me?"

Blue brows rose unintentionally. "You have a surprise for me? Whatever for?"

"Now how could I possibly tell you that when it's a surprise?"

Auron turned to wink at him, then started forward, and Seymour could only follow after, his heart filled with an emotion he couldn't define. Then again, perhaps it was just a mixture of emotions too complex for him name in the amount of time it took to walk the numerous blocks. Soon, they were marching up a leg-numbing number of steps of a building Seymour had never been to before.

Walking beside him, Auron said, his voice curiously light, "I know your time here in Bevelle has been short. I'm sorry I've never given you a tour, but it seems like we never make it far from our rooms." Auron offered him another wink, which Seymour grinned at.

Past the wooden doors, Seymour was quite astounded at the amount of paintings, books, and artifacts lining over five stories of shelves and walls. Metal, paper, ceramic, stone, water, wood, nearly every material imaginable was put to one use or another. The place was a monolith of treasure.

Seymour whispered, to keep his voice from echoing, "My tutor once told me of this place, but clearly I had forgotten about it, or I would have come the moment I was conscious."

"Our history is here. The history of Bevelle, of Spira, although I'm told that nothing dates back to the time before Sin first appeared. But I suppose about a thousand years of history isn't bad." He turned to the younger man and smiled. "Since I know you love research so much, I thought that this might keep you busy for a while, while I'm gone."

An instant cringe tightened his body at the final words. But he cleared his throat and murmured, "Do you ever come here yourself?"

"Sometimes. When I can, which isn't often nowadays. I don't think the council has heard of such a thing as a day off." Auron's grin grew mischievous. He grabbed Seymour's hand as he said, "I'd like to show you something before I lose you in here."

The half-Guado was led only a few rather enthusiastic steps, when a woman suddenly appeared before them, a bit out of breath.

"Oh goodness. I'm getting too old for this, I swear, and I'm not even thirty yet," the woman huffed out, grabbing a bit of her shirt at her chest with a slim hand. She snorted at herself, then straightened to appraise them. "And, Auron, you've brought a friend. Good morning, Lord Seymour. It is indeed a pleasure."

"Although the time is a bit too early for my taste, good morning," Seymour said as he briefly took the offered hand, nearly matching her smile.

"Tell me about it. Well, would you two like a tour? Have you been here before, Lord Seymour?"

The Summoner began to shake his head, but Auron suddenly spoke up. "Actually, I was planning on taking him upstairs to the viewing room."

"Ah, yes," she purred, her sudden grin more substantial than her previous smile. "Come. I do believe they finished cleaning that part of the building yesterday, so we should be able to get in."

The small party went up a set of stairs, down a spacious, high-ceiling hallway, and into a large, clean viewing room. Statues of various summoners and great men and women lined the walls. Each one was proud and spoke only of strength that gave hope. He was lead toward the middle of one side of the room. Even before they arrived in front of the figure, Seymour gasped. Auron took on a serious stance, his arms crossed, and looked at the figure before them. The woman stopped to stand at his other side.

The statue was a perfect likeness of Seymour although, with its shorter hair and youthful face, clearly around three years younger. The boldness of its stature was overwhelming. It showed nothing of his pain, except maybe in the softness of the eyebrows over partially closed lids. The meticulously detailed robe, chiseled to clothe to large statue, was the same one he'd worn only on the anniversary of his mother's death. The sight of the cold stone gave Seymour the irrational urge to run away as fast as he could.

"It was commissioned three years ago by Lord Jescal as a gift for the museum," the woman said, studying the stone. "It is a lovely example, and one of my favorite, might I add."

His father had commissioned it? Seymour tore his gaze away and looked at Auron in complete shock. But that shock tempered down quickly until it was a dark swelling in the pit of his stomach. How much had he been missing during his time in Baaj Temple, not only obeying his father's wishes, but hiding himself away from all of life, he wondered.

"It must be strange though, seeing yourself trapped in such a way," Auron mumbled, and continued to watch the statue, as if at any moment, it would come to life.

'You have no idea,' Seymour wanted to say right back.

A few seconds later, Auron murmured, "Do you like it?"

The younger man barked out a bit of overwhelmed laughter. "I suppose as much as I could. I had no idea this was here."

"I mean, do you think it's good?"

"Well..." Seymour tilted his head and twisted his face into a look of uncertainty, then he bent over and whispered into the Guardian's ear, "I do like its expression. It kind of reminds me of you after an orgasm."

Auron burst out laughing. The sound echoed merrily off of the stone walls. "Well, I'm glad it reminds you of the niceties of life."

Grinning himself, the man straightened and lowered his gaze to the base, to see what the plaque might say, and breathed, "By Yevon." Now it was clear why Auron was so absurdly excited about the chiseled stone.

"It took me -ages-. I'd never done anything so big before. They even threatened to take the assignment away from me. I had to beg them more to keep it, than I had to beg to be assigned the commission in the first place. By that time I was a warrior monk and spent most of my time in Bevelle anyway." Auron looked to him expectantly.

Seymour cleared his throat and couldn't stop his grin no matter how much he tried. "The thought has crossed my mind that I may well be dating a stalker. A dementedly obsessive one at that."

"Well, I'll admit that you made an impression on me," was said cautiously.

Silver eyes met brown ones, and Seymour could see that Auron was growing genuinely apprehensive of his reaction. The younger man didn't have a clue how to smooth this one over. He was flattered to say the least. At most, he was wholly astounded by this raven-haired beauty.

"Auron, I... Your ability is remarkable. To say that I am worthy of such a work would be a gross fabrication." He took Auron's thick hand in his own, and whispered, "I -am- honored. My only wish is that you -would have- kissed my tears away on that day, so I could have loved you just as much. I feel deprived."

"I should have." The man smiled fully, and brought his other hand up to touch Seymour's cheek.

The woman cleared her throat suddenly, reminding them of her presence. Both men turned to her and took in her slanted grin. "Well, I see that I'm no longer needed. Please enjoy yourselves. You know where I am, Auron, if you need me. Stay well, Lord Seymour."

The summoner smiled. "Thank you for the tour."

She snorted lightly, clearly thinking, 'What tour?' then left after a nod to Auron.

The rest of the day was spent examining and discussing the various artifacts together. The self-study of books could wait until later. When the afternoon became late, Seymour excused himself to talk to Maester Mika, but was promptly informed by Auron that it was not necessary. The warrior monk had gone to the man's office at the crack of dawn, demanding an audience. Auron had been admitted and then quickly kicked right back out, much to the snickering amusement of the guards at the door who'd most likely heard every not-so-quietly spoken word. Nonetheless, Seymour did go to see the Maester, relaying only the same news, and then found himself in the refuge of Auron's arms.

Lying there, being spooned by a heated body, the half-Guado felt more at peace than he ever had in his life. Auron kissed the younger man's neck, shifting slightly, moving the softening erection deeper into Seymour's body.

The blue-haired man moaned weakly with the caress. "I want you there, always inside of me. Over me. Under me."

"Always. But right now..." Auron pulled away suddenly, leaving Seymour cold and searching for his body in the dark. His hand found him as Auron was rolling back. The monk then rolled over him and turned on a light. "Here." Seymour was handed a long, but nearly flat wooden box. "I know your birthday isn't for several more weeks, but I thought, well, open it."

Seymour couldn't register the box for a moment. All of it, the whole day, had been overwhelmingly... satisfying. That there could be more just went beyond comprehension. The man sat up, and stared down at the wood for nearly a minute, Auron's jitters just too amusing, before he finally had mercy on the other man and opened the box. Inside was a beaded necklace. Groups of vibrant blue beads, nearly matching the color of his hair perfectly, alternated with longer groups of dark brown beads. Each bead was perfectly cut and beautifully polished. The work was exceptional.

"That's more of what I usually do, well, besides the little knickknacks littering the place," Auron murmured, "Do you like it?"

"You made this too?" A blue brow raised as he appraised the man sitting beside him. Seymour didn't bother shifting his eyes to examine the various carved and chiseled items that Auron had suddenly, but almost bashfully admitted were his own work. He'd already thoroughly admired them.

"You look so shocked." Auron snorted. "Well, I -do- need a hobby outside of work. I mean, I made those months before. I just put the necklace together a few nights ago... Do you like it?"

"Of course," was all he could muster. He took the necklace out and slipped it over his head. Auron reached around and straightened it out for him. Smiling sadly, Seymour huffed a laugh. "You know, my memory fails to remember when someone last took note of my birthday. Even I forget. Giving presents on the day of one's birth - the custom is not held highly where I come from." The younger man frowned then. "But how do you know when my birthday is, anyhow?"

Auron grinned. "You're not the only one who does research."

 

 

**Chapter 11: Manipulation**

 

The day was late, its growing darkness dismissing the drudgery of yet more pointless meetings and bad humor. But mostly, Seymour was grateful for the coming night because every single second of daylight was endless torture of not being able to be next to Auron.

Tomorrow, the warrior monk and his friend were embarking on their ill-fated journey, and Seymour had never been so fearful for someone since the death and rebirth of his mother. He couldn't believe the ache inside of himself, the pure agony of no one around him seeming to care. Of course, why would they? Seymour saw the reality the people of Spira saw: Auron was just another Guardian and Braska was just another Summoner. On top of that, both were presently ousted from society by their own free wills. They were already old gossip. But that didn't stop Seymour's unbelief that no one, except for Maester Mika, had said even a single word in a vain attempt to get them to stay.

"Hm, I think that's everything," echoed off the stone walls in the distance. Seymour turned a corner, and Braska looked up from the contents in his shopping bag and smiled when he saw the other Summoner.

Auron turned his head and smiled too. His lover's smile made Seymour's heart tremor and he almost lost the will to continue his footsteps.

Still, he walked up to the men standing in front of Auron's bed chamber, to a tall summoner he'd been unavoidably seeing more and more of over the previous four days. And Seymour knew then that he was just as bad as everyone else. After all, when had he -ever- tried to get Braska to abandon his pilgrimage? His eyes had only been for Auron. Bannon was right, he was selfish.

"Good evening, Lord Seymour." Braska's smiled lessened a bit as his brows scrunched together. "By Yevon, and I thought -my- day was exhausting."

Seymour's brows rose in turn, wondering if his pain was so obvious, but then smiled graciously. "Well, at least the moon is rising." Lips pursed as he took in the others newly acquired items. "Do you believe you have the strength to carry so much?"

The older Summoner smirked, glancing down at the numerous bags he held. "Most of this is for Yuna. I figured that her aunt had enough to worry about." He shrugged then and took in his two companions. "Well, I'd better get back, before she calls the watch on me. My Lord, if you ever have the pleasure of meeting my sister, pay no heed to her smile. She's a vicious, shrewd woman. Even my father couldn't believe we're the same blood."

"Yuna will be staying with her," Seymour asked. Even though he barely knew Braska, knew even less of Yuna, and nothing of her aunt, he found his stomach tensing.

"Well, for a while, until Auron returns. He-"

Seymour just couldn't believe what Braska had said. Laughter burst out of him. It was bitter, painful stuff that had both men gawking at him before either man could catch their reaction. With that, the teenager turned on his heal, and stalked back the way he'd come. After four years avoiding people, life, everything, the action came naturally.

Auron was saying something to Braska, but even with the echoes, Seymour couldn't hear him over the pounding of his feet. But before he could turn the corner and wonder what in the hell he was doing running away from Auron like this on the eve before the man was leaving him forever, the Guardian was suddenly running up to him.

"Seymour, wait!"

For the first time -Seymour- kept walking. He didn't want to stop, ever stop. He wanted to run. He wanted the stone walls to eat him alive and never let him back out. Trapped in nothing but his misery - it was better than this.

"Seymour, all right, I'm going to ask you something I should have asked ages ago," Auron said, his voice hard and heavy, when he reached Seymour's side, matching the teenager's pace with shorter legs, "What happened in Zanarkand? What happened to you? To your mother?"

"You're asking me -now-?!" growled Seymour, practically tripping over himself as he glared openly at the raven-haired man.

"Well, I couldn't before. Everything about her, about what happened, I mean you look like you want to die when I even mention it. But I think you -want- to tell me. So I'm asking."

Seymour stopped midstep. Auron stumbled forward a few more before he caught himself. The teenager hissed, "Sir, do not do me any favors."

Auron's jaw tensed, but the man merely forced out with more softness than he was obviously feeling, "Stay with me tonight. We can talk... Or not. Just don't go like this."

"By Yevon, Auron... Whatever I could say, you will not listen! No one will. I-I just cannot do this any longer. Please. This is killing me." He'd said it, the torturous thoughts that had been crossing his mind for days. It was all just too much to bear any longer. Auron watched him, stone-faced, and Seymour almost broke down, certainly not for the first time since being in this man's company. "Please understand, Auron. I love you, but I just... can't."

"At least see me off in the morning."

"Of course," Seymour murmured with a weak smile. Then he was off again down the hallway. He never heard Auron over his own steps, so he didn't know if the man watched after him, but he couldn't turn around.

Soon, lying on his bed in his generously sized bed chamber, sleep failed to release him from his agony. But nor could he move, let alone get up. He laid there until the sun rose, and until its brightness was directly overhead. By then, dazed, he knew Auron was gone. But he couldn't move. He could hardly even breathe. His pillow was wet from his tears.

Hands aggressively rubbed cringing silver eyes. No. No, not again. He'd let it happen again.

The man thrust himself off of the bed and sped to the departure point, ignoring the surprised, gawking stares of onlookers. A summoner--a half-Guado one at that--wearing his full dress, running around like death was on his tail, just wasn't something people normally caught a glimpse of, especially in Bevelle where summoners were fiercely protected.

Of course, no one was there. Not Auron or Braska. Not even an onlooker to forcefully demand answers out of. He stood there. He didn't count the minutes. He only counted the days he'd been with the Guardian, all the time he'd had to stop him and hadn't.

"I should have tied him up," he whispered, completely serious.

Days, then weeks passed. No word came back as to whether or not Auron and Braska had been successful. Seymour attended his duties, dead of heart. If the people noticed, they seemingly didn't care. No one said a word to him. Maester Mika never called him to speak with him on any matter. If his father hadn't assigned him the job title of a diplomat, he might as well not even have existed in Bevelle.

Weeks later, he did hear a rumor that Auron was back in the city, but he never saw the man, nor attempted to track him down. He was terrified of being next to him, of what he'd do if he could get a hold on the raven-haired man's arm.

Then several more weeks passed. Seymour was laying on his bed, listening to the joyous cries and music that echoed in every part of Bevelle. Sin had been defeated. Braska had beaten the odds and had given them all the Calm at long last. But the half-Guado couldn't celebrate in the slightest. Visions of Sin clotted his mind, not letting in any sense of gladness.

Auron was now Sin. If the people had known the truth, would they have still celebrated, he wondered distantly.

Seymour clenched his eyes shut to stop the annoying rush of tears, but then a split second later, he jutted up into a seated position, the bed squeaking under his sudden movement. A terrible scent invaded his senses. The scent of death. It was so close. Delirious with exhaustion, heartache, and hatred, Seymour chocked on his breath, sure that Yunalesca had come back to seek her revenge for not fulfilling his end of the bargain.

The wind blew through the open balcony, fluttering generous, but feather light curtains. He saw a figure standing there, all space around it bleached out by fireworks and moonlight. But he couldn't see a face. The figure was pure darkness.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Eyes wide, Seymour sucked in his breath at the sound of the rumbling voice. "Auron."

He was on his feet and running straight to the door. Footsteps never echoed behind him, but if felt as if the man was breathing down his neck. He ran, this time sure death -was- right on his tail. Auron had surely come to seek revenge in Yunalesca's place. Revenge for not telling the truth. He was terrified out of his mind. He shoved any innocent bystanders out of his way as he fled the man he loved. He couldn't face him, nor the truth of what he had let happen, twice.

Tears streamed down his face. His lungs were on fire. He couldn't stop.

Soon, the forest swallowed him alive. Bevelle became a distant voice behind him. He had no direction, no set plan. He ran until he was sure he was going to die from the exertion. And he wouldn't have stopped if the beast hadn't suddenly appeared before him. He barely had time to breath, before the monster's massive horns imbedded themselves into his chest, piercing the fabric right above his nipples. Had he had any breath, he would have screamed his agony. But instead, he wailed lightly, then felt himself be thrust up into the air and tossed several meters away. The horns, ripping back out, hurt more than they had going in. The Summoner landed like a stone on his side. He heard the beast's breath, the chinking of his own necklace as he tried in vain to get up, then the charging of multiple feet.

A new fire burned in his chest. A warmth that shocked through his whole body.

"Mother."

The woman rushed from his body. The monster she now was formed before his collapsing eyelids. The agonizing scream of the attacking beast cut through his mind. He knew it was dead. Such power!

The warmth returned to him. Seymour drifted off into a sleep he knew would lead to death.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

"My son, be thankful that my Guards found you. If you had remained out there..." Lord Jyscal trailed off as Seymour ground his teeth together. "Really, boy, if I had wanted you killed, I could have done so, oh say five years ago."

Silver eyes widened. His jaw ached with the pressure of his clenched teeth. Seymour twirled around, beads chinking with the violent movement, and stalked from the audience room. He'd heard more than enough.

His father was right though. He would have died and the man could have easily let him die. Without immediate care, what the monster had done to him were now two permanent markings on his body, a constant reminder of what he'd done, and why he'd run from a ghost.

His city was his home again. It apparently was his father's pleasure that he be returned, since the Calm had come once again. It didn't matter what he wanted, especially if it was death.

The Guado around him nodded their respect as he stormed past them. He didn't spare a glace or the slightest interest in the people that would be his one day. It had been two weeks since he had woken up and was shocked to find himself among his own kind. The other half, anyway. The short lived audience he'd had with his father only confirmed that he was now home to stay. And no, he didn't have a choice in the matter.

He wondered briefly if he could call forth his mother and have her kill the despicable man for him. But he sincerely doubted she would have followed his command. Whenever he was around his father, the woman stirred inside of him, clearly knowing who was near and wanting to go to him.

But she was his now, and he'd never let her go.

"Did the meeting go well, My Lord?" Bannon asked as he lifted his gaze from a pile of papers as Seymour turned yet another corner.

Seymour continued on as if he hadn't heard. Bannon, he was just another constant reminder of death and heartache. The teenager could no longer have feelings for anyone. He just couldn't and live with himself at the same time. He would have gone insane.

It wasn't until nighttime, lying alone in his bed, that Seymour second guessed his dismissal of his old friend. He left his room without a thought and found Bannon's room in the dim hallways. He entered the room for the first time ever, without knocking. He slipped under the covers and felt Bannon's warmth beside him. His eyes closed. It felt beyond wonderful. He reached over and touched the older man's slim back. The man purred and rolled onto his back, clearly not even close to being awake. Seymour covered him.

"Please make me forget, Bannon." He kissed the Guado's chin. "Make me forget."

Then he kissed him full on the mouth and was rewarded with a throaty moan.

Eventually, in the months and years that followed, he did forget.

 

~~~ Ten years later ~~~

 

With careful footsteps, the half-Guado moved forward, still not quite believing the illusion. Sometimes his own hesitancy made him laugh. Of course, these days he had to do his own laughing. No one else would dare laugh with him. Not that they would have laughed with him in his youth either.

Seymour's father forbade the use of the Pyreflies' power in their home. Illusion was a gift of the dead, not the living. But with his father traveling to visit the outskirts of their land, to keep the 'little people' in check, there were no hovering eyes. Free rein of the palace definitely had its advantages. He planned to take advantage of them all in the next few hours.

The circular room before him was unlike any of that in his own home. There were no thick vines to bring the walls and floors to life. Instead polished stones covered with paintings of flowers created the illusion of life on the dome above. Angels and beautiful men were maliciously carved into stone around him. Such falsity. Zanarkand seemed a city that had only wished it was alive. Only the people of the city had truly brought it to life. Yes, the room was beautiful in its fineries, but it was cold just like Bevelle.

Seymour sighed and looked to the woman on the bed. Her grief was something even he couldn't ignore. It reminded him so much of his own mother when she would sit for endless hours, waiting for her husband to give her even the slightest notice, waiting with a little blue-haired bundle curled at her feet like a kitten.

With a shake of his head, he banished the thought. The woman seated so solemnly was who he had come to see. He walked forward again. She paid him no heed, lost in a dream, more of a recording than an actual person.

Yunalesca was beautiful. He could acknowledge that, even though she was the one who had turned his mother into a monster. Perhaps one thousand years ago, she hadn't been a monster herself, disguised under a delicate form. Perhaps she had merely been just a woman. He reached out to touch her downcast face. His fingers when through her skin, her presence neither warm nor cold. It was just there. He might as well have been touching air. She didn't even flinch. Her thoughts weren't of him, just as his mother's hadn't been.

Booted footsteps echoed through the stone bed chamber. Seymour bolted upright, just as Yunalesca did. He gasped when she ran through him as if he wasn't there. And he wasn't, actually. Not really.

Seymour watched the two people embrace. He felt his muscles tightened as he saw them in their love for one another.

Jealousy. Pain. Agony. He pushed the terrible emotions down into the pit of his soul, along with the memories of a smiling, compassionate face. Those memories weren't welcome now. He had created this to understand what had happened to his mother, not to hunger for things lost to him.

"They are quite... in love, it seems," a choppy voice said from the doorway. Seymour growled and twisted his back to look around the ghost images to the man. Tromell stood with his large hands clasped together. His bearded face scowled as he looked at the two illusions. "Strange to think these two lovely ones were the humans who brought us into our eternal hell, hmm?"

With another growl, Seymour straightened and took in the much more pleasant view of the embracing couple. "Your presence is unwelcome, Sir. Please find another to bother with your careless observations."

Tromell chuckled lightly. "Ah, I would, my Lord, if I had not come to share them with you. Please forgive my intrusion, but there are matters I would like to discuss with you."

"Discuss them with my father when he returns." It was a dismissal. Seymour turned around and walked to a three-pane mirror a short distance away, attempting to place his hands on the mantel, but forgetting his own illusion, they went through and touched nothing but his robe. Then lifted his head to glare at the Guado, who still hadn't moved, through the mirror. "Am I required to remind you that your presence is -not- welcome?"

The man smiled and walked forward right through the embracing couple. "But it is not your father I wish to discuss these matters with. Please, my Lord, allow me but a minute out of your little interlude. But a minute."

Seymour breathed out a heavy gust of air. Just to be rid of him quicker, he growled, "Very well. But my patience is short."

Through the reflection, the heir of Jescal watched Tromell draw closer and to the bed where Yunalesca had been seated. Seymour then willed the two lovers to disappear before he turned around and gazed steadily at the bearded man. He would have done anything to wipe the smug smile off of those firm lips. Instead of doing the only thing he could think of--calling on his mother to take care of the nuisance, which would have been a terrible waste of her powers, but terribly entertaining nevertheless--he played with the blue and brown beaded necklace, Auron had gifted him, around his neck and waited, his muscles growing tenser by the second.

"My hope in coming here was that you would tell me your opinion of your father."

The fiddling stopped. "My father? I have no opinion."

"Ah." Tromell grinned and folded his hands over his thighs. "But your father holds so many opinions about you. As do I. Shall I share one of your father's with you?"

This man was really starting to get on Seymour's nerves. If anything, he had grown to despise the man even more since his childhood. But curiously, Tromell's interest in him had only been growing more disturbingly overwhelming over the months and years. The Guado surely knew Seymour's time was coming up soon. Perhaps that was why he had become more like a shadow at Seymour's back than a confidante to his father. The man obviously didn't want to lose his job, and probably knew he -would- lose it the instant Seymour came to power.

Seymour smirked. "Sir, if you wish to share your knowledge with me, you have my approval. But make it quick, as my patience with you is nil."

The bearded man smirked back. "Do you remember at all the day it was decided you would go on your pilgrimage? Your father was so insistent. Do you remember the fight your mother put up?"

"Yes," growled Seymour, rolling his eyes, wondering why the man was bringing this up -now-, fourteen years after the fact. "Yes, I remember."

"Ah, and do you remember leaving with your mother that day? Such a beautiful day it was. Hardly a breeze."

"Yes! What is your point, Sir?"

"Did you ever wonder -why- you left only with your mother that day? Your deathly sick mother who could hardly defend herself, let alone a small child." The man shook his head and almost looked sad, although Seymour didn't believe for a moment that the man could feel that particular emotion.

"My mother protected me until the end and you know that."

"Oh, no. You severely miss my point, my boy. Why did you father let his sick wife guard the heir to the Guado empire? Why did he not send a guard? Or a dozen? You know he had the ability."

Seymour did not like where this was going. He knew what the man wanted him to say, and dwelling deep down in his heart, the answer enraged his heart, building a fury that transferred to his every muscle. He barely noticed the world around them had shifted into a dark abyss.

An unfazed Tromell walked closer. If the man was nothing else, he was unbelievably brave. "I shall take that as a sign of your understanding. It -was- quite a surprise that your mother volunteered for the duty. Even I was stunned by her bravery. But the old expression--killing two birds with one stone--may hold to this particular event in time. Your father didn't expect either of you to make it. I assure you that I was as astonished as he was when you turned up in the Baaj Temple." Tromell stopped a few meters away from him and smiled sweetly. Seymour somehow resisted the urge to punch him. "I cannot relay to you the depth of which your father hates humans. He married your mother only to satisfy the people's will. Then, well you see, your father changed his mind."

"Changed his mind?! You..." Seymour fisted his hands at his sides. "Why would you tell me such things? Your loyalty is with my father."

Dark eyes gazed up with without a trace of fear. "Your father is a weak man. Our people grow tired of him. He promised to bring the Guado to power, but all he wants to do is travel the country side in his own small little world. He has turned away from his promises. If he could, he would turn on Yevon as well. He took one step forward and then ten back."

"Still," Seymour huffed, "Why are you saying this to -me-? Am I not the heir? Don't you worry that I'll overthrow him?"

"Ah. Now, my boy, you're catching on." The Guado reached out his long arm and patted Seymour's upper-arm, as if they were lifetime friends.

The blue-haired man jerked back a step, glaring furiously. "You have always been after my father's chair. I fail to see the reason you are telling me this. Why do you not kill us both and take over the throne yourself? Or do tell me that the thought has never crossed your mind."

"Your perception of my motions falls short, gracious Lord. Yes, if I had wanted power, I could have taken it. But power fails to interest me. Power comes with many responsibilities. I'm an old man. I hardly have the motivation to wake myself up, let alone rule over a race of people. No, it is the benefits of power that interest me. My lifestyle is dear to me."

Seymour closed his mouth over a bark of laughter, but then released it since what the man was saying was just -way- to perfectly absurd. Between his laughs, he managed to get out, "You-you expect me to take care of you? An-and you will give me -what- for this great honor, Sir?"

"-Anything- you want."

The laughter faded as he watched Tromell. The man stood perfectly still, serious. It was clear that the Guado believed his words. Seymour frowned. "And what is it exactly that you want me to do?"

"I only ask that you give the order." Seymour's eyes widened, and Tromell smirked. "The thought has crossed your mind, has it not? Ah, no need to deny it. It's a thought that every heir holds. And think of your mother. Revenge can be satisfying, contrary to what most would have you believe."

Seymour turned around, facing the abyss. The darkness of it was overwhelming. He willed it away and the dining room faded back in. "And what happens when you grow tired of me, my dear Sir?"

"As I said, I'm an old man. With any luck, I'll be dead before that is even a consideration. Give the order, and he will be dead within a week. He is traveling to Bevelle to meet with the council. It is a long, long trip."

Fourteen years. Fourteen years to wait for revenge. Life had a way of working out by itself, whether he wanted it to or not, even if he himself had never found the courage to take fate on. And everything seemed to be falling right into place, his revenge against his father, his rise to power, and perhaps eventually the answers to questions that plagued his mind every minute of the day. Nonetheless, he hadn't expected the answer to his problems to be Tromell. He knew the man was manipulating him, just as the Guado had done to his father, but he could deal with that later. Perhaps years before, his father had thought the same thing. Seymour smirked. Life could also be startlingly ironic.

"Kill him. And make sure he knows what will happen. I want him to know fear. He deserves no less."

Even as he said the words, inexplicably, he felt sick.

 

 

**Chapter 12: A Dance with the Dead**

 

Focus, he needed focus to prepare for what was to come.

Those around him only distracted. The half-Guado had sent the majority of the mansion's staff away, including Bannon, as the Guado people mourned his father's death. He couldn't bear the tears, the searches for sorrow from their new leader.

Seymour needed solitude. He needed everyone to leave him alone before they drove him mad with their grief.

Surely they knew he was grieved, that every breath pained him. Had they stayed, in his rantings, they would have also eventually found out that his mother cursed him with her every undead thought, that he delighted in her sweet torture as it never let him forget what he now was: a murderer.

Quickly, he had another guilty reason to be glad for their departure. The days that followed the report of his father's death brought the very real stench of death to his nose, eventually to his every passing thought. The death stayed hidden in the recesses of his near empty mansion. In his daily preparations, he felt it always near. The smell drove most of the remaining residents away.

"Father," Seymour called out the first time he had smelled it, stumbling to a halt in an empty hallway. Nothing. Nothing but his own choppy breaths, his own terror and regret, answered him.

Eventually apathy faded those coarse emotions and left his mind and heart hard. The dead ex-leader of the Guado never called on him, as he always had on a moment's whim when he had been alive. Neither did his father come when his son called on the Pyreflies, called to him. Seymour could only come to the conclusion that the man was terrified of him. And rightly so.

Eventually he just ignored the scent. It never harmed him. It just waited and watched and listened. Eventually it almost became a friend, a secret confidant.

The last morning in his own bed, the day he was to travel to Luca to be announced a new Maester of Spira, he woke with a short-lived gasp. Death covered him like a pillow shoved into his face, not allowing him to breath, then in the next moment, dissipated, leaving only traces behind.

Seymour shot upright in his bed, searching the room with eyes alone. The morning beamed in, leaving only a tease of the darkness that had tried to take him. Death, a tease. The thought brought a smirk to his strained mouth.

"If you want me, take me!"

Breeze fluttered the floor length curtains of the window, bringing in clean, damp air. Faint sounds of life drifted in as well. One long hand threw the sheet off of his naked body. He drew in a deep breath, capturing the faint trace of death, and his smile grew as he rose to dress.

Putting his arm through a sleeve, his gaze fluttered over the tattoos on his chest that hid proof of his mortality. A sweet whisper, Seymour murmured, "Don't fear me, for soon you'll have us all."

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._ Luca _.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

Earlier, he'd wanted focus, but nothing could have prepared him for what followed.

Impending death, the sound of it... Perhaps his father had screamed in such ways. The thought failed to make the man's apathetic heart tremble anymore. The howls of beasts failed to make his heart tremble as well. The sounds drifted to him through the thick woven curtains. Silver eyes remained closed, letting the sounds pulse like a heartbeat in his head. Listened to just carefully enough, it all almost sounded like music. Music in death. Who would have thought?

"It's time," murmured Maester Mika, the robed man stepping to his side.

Seymour drew his eyes open, fighting against wrinkling his nose. Flowering with the stench of death, the old and quite dead man smiled up at him with no warmth. Together, they had prepared this moment for the Summoner. It was the perfect plan, a carefully conceived one at that. What better way to gain the people's trust and allegiance than saving their lost, unloved lives?

"What would my father say," he mumbled, not truly expecting, nor wanting an answer.

"What he would say no longer matters," Mika chided, encouraged. "You are the leader of the Guado, our new Maester. You are the one who will decide and bring order to these lost people."

The blue-haired man frowned down at the other man, letting the word 'lost' play in his head a bit more. Then he brushed aside the curtains and stepped onto the balcony.

No, it wasn't the scream, the monsters, even death that ate at the remnants of his soul. It was the man, standing alone far below him, that made everything else dissolve away. Even at that distance, Seymour knew and disbelieved. At first, his disbelief refused to let him even catch his breath, let alone take stock of the whole situation again that he himself was supposed to be resolving.

"He can't be..." breathed Seymour.

The dead man, who again stood at his right, looked to him, questioning, trying to draw his attention away from another man that was not supposed to be standing there, let alone fighting.

Auron was dead. Auron was Sin. Auron couldn't be standing there in broad daylight, monsters falling to his immense sword.

Seymour ignored the dead Maester and walked to the top of the balcony to convince his unbelieving eyes. He leaned forward and gripped the cool stone railing until the blood drained from his hands. He could see nothing but ebony and crimson.

Ten years...

Memories of that night on the balcony made him shake his head. He had never seen Auron again after that night, and had eventually convinced himself that it had been a mere dream, a horrible nightmare. The only thing that had held back the complete expulsion of the memory had been the very real and horrible scent of death that had driven him mad with terror.

Terror? Seymour shook his head at the young man in his memories. Death simply didn't hold the effect on him that it used to, not since learning the High Maester ruled with two feet in the grave, not since death plagued every aspect of his life. Not since death had become the only answer for anything he strove to achieve.

The man shook his head once more. 'But if Auron is here, then who is Sin?'

From the considerable distance, never sparing an upward glance, Auron, who was supposed to be dead, who had to be dead, stared head on at a beast that was many times larger than the swordsman. The man appeared aged, a bit terribly at that, but Seymour didn't doubt for a moment that it was his previous lover.

Then for a brief moment, one brown eye looked up directly at him. For the first time in ten years, Seymour's heart trembled, his breath quickened. The reaction startled him to the point where the twenty-eight year old man almost turned around and walked right back down. Well, perhaps fled would have been a better word to describe what his mind was begging him to do. Then the other man looked back at his new prey and the half-Guado remembered how to breathe.

Wide-eyed, Seymour watched his lost friend and lover. The skill portrayed drove chills down his spine. If anything, Auron was more driven, carried a stronger purpose. Still, he was cold and calculated and remorseless. Every stroke of his blade bit with a carefully concealed anger. It was almost as if every blow was revenge.

Even as Seymour thought those things, he couldn't help but question them. So dwelling on his own denied anger and pain, perhaps he was merely seeing himself, seeing in Auron what he wanted to see.

Seymour wanted Auron to have his revenge.

Teeth instantly ground together. He shoved at the balcony, forcing himself back a couple of steps. No, he wouldn't think that way any longer. If this old man truly was Auron, he was still in the past, a long ago, decaying past that held no bearing on who the new Maester had become. Mere acknowledgment of Auron would surely tear him from his carefully conceived path.

No, even if the man was Auron, he held no place in his heart.

An apparent gathering of friends surrounded the red cloaked man and aided his effort. Seymour watched on for a few moments longer, before it became clear that, despite their abilities, their fight was a lost cause. Eyes trembling shut, the half-Guado sucked in his breath. A warmth surged inside of his chest. He could almost hear his mother sigh with the release. One painful charged blow after another, the monsters were completely obliterated. All too quickly, her task complete, their tie to one another yanked her back inside. He shuddered.

His eyes opened at Maester Mika's pleased purr. The people's shocked faces as they looked up at him almost made him smile.

Then, Seymour Guado did smile when he felt a warmth. The warmth wasn't from his trapped mother, the only source of such a feeling for so many years. It flooded from a familiar gaze, a gaze from a man that heated his very soul.

It shouldn't have warmed him.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._ Mi'ihen Highroad _.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

"All hail Maester Seymour!"

Clouds bleached the sky gray, giving all too clear visibility. The Maester approached the group of Crusaders, knowing full well who was so close by. The man in the distance, despite the frown aging him and his dark clothing, could have only been described as the sun.

Seymour stood solid, cleared his throat, and encouraged, "Brave Crusaders of Spira, protectors of all Spira. Believe in the path you have chosen, let faith be your strength! I, Seymour Guado, Maester of Yevon, will bear witness to your deeds today."

The Crusaders saluted him and cried out in union, "Sir!"

A smile graced him. They were all too soft, too easy to manipulate. It was almost sad. But he would assure them their promised salvation one day.

Unable to help it, he looked again to the group a short distance away. So close. He tried not to breath, to think. Then his feet stunned him when he found them walking towards them, to him.

"Hmm... I can only speculate," a brunette woman murmured as he walked into hearing distance.

Auron all but growled, "Ask him yourself."

Seymour couldn't look at the gruff man, fearing what he'd say, what the remnants of his pounding heart would make him do. Instead, he focused on the girl with the unusual eyes and he knew her at once: Braska's daughter, Yuna. Her light, her beauty was indeed a distraction, but not enough of one to conceal the eye of a man who had no problem staring, who was apparently much more daring than he himself.

Then, accepting the challenge against his better judgment, breathing in a breath he wished he didn't need, as it only brought the scent of death to waif his nose, he turned to the other man and stated with far more ease than he felt, pretending as if he'd just noticed him, although positive he wasn't fooling anyone, "Ah, Sir Auron. It is an honor. I would be most interested in hearing what you've been doing these past ten years."

Auron glared death. Seymour almost choked. "I've got nothing to say about it." Then the man walked away.

"I... see." All the fear of ten years ago had no trouble pounding his heart. He stared after the older man, flabbergasted at his own reaction, and understanding Auron's all too well. He felt Yuna's eyes on him and welcomed the glorious renewed distraction. A painful smile quirked his lips as he murmured, "Sir Auron must be a great asset as a guardian."

The young woman's eyes went wide. "Your Grace!"

"Please, there's no need for formalities."

Then the young red-haired man in the group practically jumped up and down to get some shred of his attention. "Excuse me... Maester Seymour? Why is your Lordship... presently...present here...sir?"

Seymour almost couldn't stop his disconcerted sigh at such a lack of elegance, such weakness. "Please, speak as you normally would."

The conversation went on, speaking of trivial matters that had nothing directly to do with his plans for Spira, but were nonetheless a link in the chain. He tried to calm their fears, their confusion. He tried to explain the reality of things with half-truths.

Then the red-headed sputtered, "But, using machina... That's bad, isn't it?"

The half-Guado had to stop his snort. "Pretend you didn't see them."

The group as a whole gasped, everyone except for Auron.

Clearly unable to stop himself, the redhead blurted, "Beg your pardon, but that's not something a maester should say!"

Seymour's smirk grew. "Then pretend I didn't say it."

"You're kidding!"

Such simple-mindedness. The people of Spira were no closer to the truth than they had been ten or even one-thousand years ago. Feeling something close to pity, Seymour walked away. Auron's eye burned him, but he couldn't look back.

The battle against Sin that took place soon after, yes, he had encouraged it, pushed it to the point of death. He wanted to see Sin's strength, its weaknesses against all that Spira could offer: summoners, machina, swords, and guns. All of them proved useless against it, barely able to overcome merely its spawns. Truly, Yunalesca and Lord Zaon together had created a monster in their vain efforts to save Spira from death.

After the flash of light, alone, he stood against a spawn of Sin one the others had failed to defeat. The thing wanted him dead. He smirked at it. Then beside him, a whisper of soft cloth. He knew instantly who it was and his breath caught.

To fight next to his lover, a man he'd once loved, perhaps still did... He couldn't help but look at the other man. One eye sealed shut, the man refused to acknowledge him with the other. But there Auron was, sword drawn, ready to fight by his side. It almost shattered his hard heart. His mouth trembled to say something, anything, just his name, but he couldn't.

Then beside Auron, Yuna stood strong, defiant. Even he could admire her strength. It was why he'd chosen her.

"Stand back, Lady Yuna," Seymour commanded. Despite his faith in her abilities, he needed her alive. He would soon depend on her. Her dying now would serve no purpose.

By the end of the battle, he knew he'd chosen well.

~Are you afraid?~

Her smile made him smile as well.

~Yuna, take me as your pillar of strength. As Yunalesca had her lord Zaon.~

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._ Guadosalam _.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

In the next room, as he closed the distance, he heard Tromell purr, "Lord Seymour... He will surely become the shining star that lights the way for all the peoples of Spira."

At the words, his heart constricted. Yes, he believed them to an extent, as his title and lineage didn't give him much choice in the matter, but when the Guado stated it, it became a curse. "That's enough, Tromell," he muttered as he walked into the room. "Must I always endure such praise?" He rolled out the prayer gesture as he'd done countless times before. "Welcome."

"You...wanted to see me?" The woman's voice was filled with wonder, as it always seemed to be. She amazed him, brought out a shame in him even Auron couldn't quite achieve. She'd lost her father, so much to Sin, yet she seemed so full of hopeless hope. With her eyes, she could almost convince him that maybe there was hope. Maybe there was another way.

But no, no there wasn't. There wasn't.

"Please, make yourselves at home. There's no rush."

"Please keep this short," Auron growled, seemingly the only tone he could achieve in Seymour's presence. "Yuna must rush."

For the first time since he'd entered the room, he met Auron's gaze and mustered, "Pardon me. It's been a long time since I had guests." He reached out with a gracious sweep. "Lady Yuna, this way."

The Maester watched their expressions, gestures, absentmindedly amused at their wonder. He told them the story of their past, of their undefeatable future, of love that he no longer believed could exist in a rational mind.

As the false woman, Yuna had been named after, hugged the man she loved, Seymour watched Yuna carefully. She seemed to absorb all of it, taking it into her heart as if what was in front of her was her own fate. He smiled. So innocent. So easy to mind-fuck. Had it been another time, another world, he knew he could have loved her.

Seymour leaned over and whispered promises, whispered his plans, his vision, although a severely watered down version of it. Yuna covered her mouth and gasped. He backed away and let her dwell on his proposal. He let her walk away, assured she would see the truth in it, her an eternal servant of Yevon.

The small group exclaimed amongst themselves as the young woman admitted what had been said.

Then in a moment of burning aggression, Auron turned to him and growled, "You know what Yuna must do."

"Of course." Seymour smiled. "Lady Yuna--no, all summoners--are charged with bringing peace to Spira. But this means more than just defeating Sin. She must ease the suffering of all Spira. She must be a leader for the people. I proposed to Lady Yuna as a maester of Yevon."

"Spira is no playhouse." Then the guardian frowned at him, an expression far less intense than the death gaze he'd been getting before, and shook his head slightly. "A moment's diversion may amuse the audience, but it changes nothing."

At the words, his heart sputtered and sank at the same time, feeling like a tornado in his chest. Auron seemed to be speaking of the half-Guado as much as of Yuna. Careful, he muttered, "Even so, the actors must play their parts." The summoner didn't want to take his eyes away from a man he'd once thought he loved. For a moment, Auron almost seemed to feel the same ravishing of emotions, but then one brown eye darted away, leaving a pit of emptiness in his chest. Slowly, hoping Auron would look back, praying he wouldn't, he moved to Yuna's side. "There's no need to answer right away. Please, think it over."

"We will do so, then." Auron turned to usher them out the door, and growling once again, he ordered, "We leave."

"Lady Yuna, I await your favorable reply." Auron walked away from him, not a sign of looking back. Seymour bit his bottom lip to control himself, and then, out of his mouth before he could stop it, he blurted, "Why are you still here, sir?" Auron stopped in mid-step and Seymour felt his breath leave him, his mind screaming at him, 'What are you doing?! This man is not - ' He bowed to hide his sudden dread as to what he was drudging up. "I beg your pardon. We Guado are keen to the scent of the Farplane."

Then the young man he knew as Tidus walked up to Auron, and of all things, sparking ill-conceived jealousy, started sniffing the Guardian. Auron pushed him away and stalked out of the room. The rest of the group followed, leaving the Summoner filled with desire he couldn't believe he could still feel.

 

_.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._ Macalania Temple _.-=*^*=-._.-=*^*=-._

 

Only a few days prior, he had traveled to his temple to pray and further conceive his plans. He hadn't expected Yuna to be following right behind him. The woman and her small group wasted no time with their goals, an attribute he knew well to respect. But often haste wasn't the best course of action. Of course, often, neither was waiting patiently for fate to happen, a course he had always been well versed in.

Alone with the teenager, he was free to study her oddities and endearing traits that made her so different from others. He wanted her speak her mind, to share with him. It would make the manipulation so much easier in the end if she trusted him as he trusted her.

"Maester Seymour," Yuna murmured, her gaze to the ground, "I've been thinking on what you said for what seems like my whole life, even though we only spoke the other day. I will marry you, if you still wish it. I want to give hope to the people of Spira. But...

"I-I'm sorry," Yuna looked to him imploringly. "There are things you surely know you must answer for. You... you cannot - you should not attempt to escape Yevon's judgment. You must turn yourself in to the high council and seek their forgiveness!" The young woman took a step closer, making him frown. "If you do this, I will support you, I will stand next to you always, but I... You must also understand, I must complete my pilgrimage as well."

The tall man watched her carefully. He should have expected this, but to hear it after so much to the contrary, even from High Maester himself, the idea sounded completely foreign to his ears.

Yuna didn't know, didn't understand. He knew then that the truth would crush her. He knew then why there were so many half-truths and secrets. Such secrets were there to protect people like her from losing all hope, people who could actually make some type of difference in the spiral of death that Spira was. Now wasn't the time to tear that part of her away from her soul.

Instead, when she bowed her head, unable to keep her eyes on him any longer, he avoided the subject so that, later on, he could give it rational thought on how to deal with it. "Lady Yuna, I do understand your devotion to your pilgrimage. Have you been to the Chamber of the Fayth yet?"

After a small shake of her head, her frown was lovely as he led her from the room and through the halls that led to the chamber. Ignoring the guards at either side, soft eyes searched him beseechingly as she ascended the stairs with her hand on his arm.

"Go ahead, Lady Yuna. I'll wait for you here." He tried his best to smile at her, despite the obvious misery on her face. When she smiled back, he allowed his smile to grow.

So full of innocence, bravery, love. The woman was so much like her father, just as he was so like his own.

The teenager hadn't been in the chamber for more than ten minutes, when the rest of her party barged into the sacred place. The Maester ground his teeth, keeping his back to them, in some odd attempt to will them away. With their mere presence, they were making advances against his plans that were most unwelcome.

Behind him, Tidus called out, "Seymour!"

"Please be silent." His hand lifted to caress his beaded necklace, an unconscious gesture. "Lady Yuna prays to the fayth."

"Make me."

For a moment, Seymour wanted to laugh, despite himself. Yet another with so much passion. But the boy had his passions aimed at the wrong girl. Yuna would be his, was already his in more than one way. He turned around and walked back down the steps. When his booted feet touched the bottom, he smirked at the young man's glare.

The chamber doors opened without warning. He heard Yuna's footsteps and turned to face her.

"Yuna," Tidus called out.

The young woman took in the small crowd. "But why..."

Tidus took a step towards her, but couldn't have gone much further without going through the young Maester. "We saw Jyscal's sphere."

"You killed him," Auron hissed, his head shaking, clearly still in a certain amount of disbelief.

Silver eyes focused on his previous lover. As if Auron didn't know how much Seymour detested his own father. He'd whispered as much in their sleepless, tangled nights together. "What of it?" Not bothering to glance at her, his eyes never leaving Auron, he murmured, "Lady Yuna, certainly you knew of these things, did you not?" When she only made a group of uncertain sounds, he finally turned his head to frown at her. "Well then, why have you come here?"

"I came... I came to stop you!"

Yuna rushed around him. Seymour merely closed his eyes. Had the others not shown up, he was sure this would have ended much differently.

"I see. You came to punish me then." He turned around and walked towards them, extending a hand to the woman, beyond amused, daring her to stop him. The woman merely backed away. "What a pity."

Her party rushed around her, protecting the innocent.

"Ah, of course. Protect the summoner even at the cost of one's life. The Code of the Guardian. How admirable." His guards moved to stand beside him, as if taking the word 'Guardian' as a hint. He ignored them and spat out, half unbelieving they would all group against him, a Maester of Yevon, "Well, if you're offering your lives, I will have to take them."

"Maester Seymour," Yuna declared boldly, "I trust my guardians with my life. But they are also my friends. I will not stand by and watch them be hurt. I will fight you, too!"

Tidus "All right!"

Wakka blurted a warning, his worry, "Maester Seymour!"

"So be it."

Against so many, it shouldn't have been surprising to anyone that they beat down his guards and then continued to tear at his flesh. His hands gathered the elements around him and they burst from his fingertips, hailing on them as thunder and fire. He managed to hurt them almost as much as they hurt him. Blood and pain dripped from him as they tried to get close enough to cause harm to him but not to themselves as well. But soon, he knew his strength alone would not be enough.

"Feel my pain. Come, Anima!"

The woman's power crackled the ice molded into the building around them. His mother burnt their flesh with mere thought, even with the spells Yuna cast to dull their pain. They never ceased their fight against her. Then to his disbelief, the creature his mother had become fell to the ground in a heap.

"That power that defeated Anima..." He straightened. "It will be mine!"

The group was relentless as he was. But the uneven match was to be his downfall.

Staggering backwards, he felt Auron's sword enter his body, saw his rage filled face so close to his own. Had he really made the man so angry, he wondered, delirious from pain and a loss of blood.

Yuna gasped at the sight of the man caught in death's embrace.

The half-Guado couldn't help his frown as he tried to focus on her face. "Yuna... you would pity me now?"

She said nothing, only stared. The sword ripped out of him and he fell onto his back. Distant, he heard the whisper of her footsteps approach him, then more feet. The closer the feet got, the more distant they sounded. And then he knew.

Death had finally found him. And finally after so many years of his own searching, he found exquisite peace.

 

 

**Chapter 13: Eternity**

 

With one final pointed riffle shove into Auron's back, the cloaked man staggered a bit, but quickly regained his balance. His only usable eye turned to glare death. No longer hidden amongst the crowd of other guards, the offending man involuntarily backed up a step and looked to Seymour for reassurance.

Internally frowning a bit himself at the treatment, the half-Guado nonetheless nodded, with a muttered, "Thank you," and the group of guards left the room.

The older man stood a considerable distance away, but Seymour could still see the veins as the loose hand clenched and unclenched. Then the dark eye turned to the Maester, staring, glaring, the man himself breathing heavily. Seymour could only stare back. He'd forced this meeting onto the arrested man. He'd wanted to see him again away from the others, in seclusion. To have Auron all to himself. Now was a hell of a time to regret it, but regret it, he did. He had thought he could handle it. He had thought death would have given him strength to keep unwanted, unneeded emotions at bay. He'd been wrong.

Seymour looked away first and walked to the plush chair along the wall of his bedchamber. Dressed only in a sleeveless shirt and pants, echoes of bare feet on smooth tiles helped mask the sounds of their breaths, but only barely. He glanced down at the adjacent chair, then back to Auron. "I suppose you wouldn't sit down if I begged."

"This is a hell of a time to pretend civility."

The younger man smirked. "I suppose. But sit down anyway? Or perhaps we could take this to the floor like children."

Auron snorted, clearly unamused, though never looking away. "Or the bed, you mean."

Seymour grinned, despite himself. "Being dead, the two of us, do you think we could even get it up to bother?"

"Yes."

Blue brows raised. "I take it you have experienced-"

"Is this line of questioning going anywhere?"

The half-Guado stared for a few moments longer, and then sat carefully in the high-backed chair. "Considering our conversation already, for the short time we knew one another, I think we knew each other far too well."

"And unfortunately we still know each other." The man attempted to glare a bit more, but then shook his head and walked over to the chair. One strong arm yanked its heavy weight a short distance away before he sat down. Staring the younger man dead on, he growled, "What do you want, Seymour?" When Seymour could only stare back, his mind cluttered with uneasiness and at the same time an overwhelming desire to yank his own chair closer, Auron sputtered, "Why are you doing this? And I don't mean this. I mean, all of it. I-I always thought you many things, but never a murderer. And I don't know what on Spira you think you're going to get out of Yuna, but I can tell you right now, it's not going to happen."

Seymour barely breathed, despite his pounding heart, an organ that shouldn't have bothered to go on. The pounding only happened around this man. Yes, Yuna fascinated him. Yes, Bannon had satisfied nearly every desire and need he'd had, including ones he didn't even know he'd had or had bothered to think about. But Auron was the only person he'd ever met who could make him tremble with merely his presence. It was no different at that moment. He couldn't get past it. Perhaps that was because it was unresolved need and desire.

The blue-haired man frowned for a brief moment. Perhaps it was as simple as that. Perhaps there just needed to be resolution. Perhaps he just needed to put an end to whatever they were to one another. Then maybe he could forget and put himself completely into his purpose. Surely, this had to end one way or another or he knew he could never move past this love that made his heart beat.

"Auron, I..." His lips pressed together. He didn't know how to end it, or if truthful with himself, just didn't want to.

"What, Seymour, what?" Auron collapsed back into the chair and drove a hand through what he could grab of tied back hair. Considering that the guardian had barely acknowledged him outside of glares over the previous weeks, that so much had changed between them, that the swordsman had killed him in cold blood, Seymour himself was amazed the man hadn't already attempted to storm out. Or kill him again, for that matter. "By Yevon, you haven't changed a bit. Maybe you always were a murderer and I just didn't want to see it."

The blue-haired man huffed a bit of laughter and looked away. "Being as you are, as I am, you must understand the peace in death. My father, he was a sick, tired old man. He needed that peace."

"You don't really believe that, do you? You've hated the man ever since you knew what hate was, and probably before then."

"Then why do you act so surprised?"

"Because I thought you were better than that. I didn't think you'd let them get to you."

Seymour's jaw dropped a bit, truly flabbergasted. "Are you serious?" He shook his head, continuing with, "They got to me every day of my life." Seymour straightened. "Do you have any idea what I went through, what they stole away from me, what I've lost?!" When Auron only stared, the summoner couldn't help his smirk. "But they have no hold on me any longer. In death, I've found peace. It's something every one of us can achieve. It's something I can give all of them. You know of what I speak. You feel no pain, no suffering."

Auron burst out with a short-lived laugh. "You think I don't feel pain or suffering? Every time I think about Braska and Jecht, about what I've done, about what I let happen... Every time I think about the decisions I've made, I feel such pain that I want to die... again. By my own hands if necessary." The man snorted. "But I can't die twice, can I?"

The maester looked away, frowning.

"Do you know... No one has ever replaced Braska. You..." The single word instantly brought Seymour's attention back. "All these years I've been dead... I've waited... hoped and waited so that I could forgive you for what you've done, what you've let happen." Auron shook his head. "But I'm one to hold such high expectations. Look at what I'm letting them do, Yuna do... I swore I'd protect her, but I'm only handing her over to the same fate as her father. I've lied to all of them, kept the truth from them. I'm no better." One brown eye focused only on him. "But I'm not a murderer. I don't kill people in cold blood. That I can't forgive."

"Except for murdering me?"

"We didn't murder you."

"You gave me no choice but to fight."

"If you hadn't fought, we wouldn't have killed you! Don't think you can twist this around."

"I'm not trying to twist it. You and your little group threatened to 'stop' me, and that wasn't something I could allow. Self-preservation is something allowed to even the most basic creatures."

"You didn't have to react."

"And I wouldn't have if you hadn't threatened me."

"There wouldn't have been any threats if you hadn't murdered your father then proceeded to attempt a takeover of all of Spira!"

"I assure you, my actions were condoned and even encouraged by those in power. The world we live in is not as simple as you may think."

"It is. It's only bastards like you that fuck it up."

Seymour sat like stone, taking in Auron's obvious fury and distrust. "Perhaps it is. But I can fix all of this. I will end people's suffering. I will give everyone an everlasting calm."

"Please tell me Yuna isn't a part in this plan of yours."

"She is an important part."

"By Yevon, Seymour, what are you planning to do?! You fucker, I will never let you harm her! I don't care what was between us, what I feel for you, I will-"

Sure he had heard wrong, the younger man interrupted with a, "Feel for me?"

Auron paused and huffed out a bit of frustrated laughter. Then he leaned forward and his face pressed into his hands. The moment dissolved into several minutes, the room growing tenser with each until Seymour wanted to scream to ease the stiffness in his body. Finally, almost a whisper, but more a growl, the swordsman said, "Do you really think I could ever stop loving you? Over the years, I've found morals and reason have little to do with the stuff." He looked up again, shaking his head, an exasperated smile tingeing his lips. "Even if you destroyed the whole of Spira, there would still be some part of me that loves you."

The half-Guado tore his gaze away, sure he'd give everything inside of himself away if they held eye-contact. Auron didn't know of his plans, or maybe perhaps had ideas but refused to believe them. In that light, perhaps what was talking was Auron's subconscious. But it gave Seymour a glimmer of hope. If he only had Auron's love, if not approval, he could do what he had to do without regrets. He could bring peace to all of the lost people of Spira through death.

"Why am I here, Seymour?"

Silver eyes closed. "I'm sure you know why."

Auron huffed. "I do, but you have a shitty way of showing it."

Seymour smiled his first real smile in... He couldn't remember how long. He knew it was real as it brought warmth to his heart and mind.

"But I can't do this with you," Auron whispered. Their eyes locked. "I can't. No matter how much I want to. It's not right. Not anymore."

His heart deadened. "Not anymore... And if I forced you?" He'd asked just to hear what Auron would say. Never mind he was now seriously considering it as his groin came to life for the first time since his death at the thought of having Auron again.

"Would you?"

"Maybe."

Auron straightened and then slumped back in the chair. "If you want the truth... I doubt I'd do much to stop you."

The words should have charged his body even more, but instead shot a liquid ice in his veins. He didn't want to force the other man. He wanted him to come willingly, without regrets. He wanted it to be like before all of this had happened. "I should have tied you up."

The older man snorted. "I hardly think that's necessary."

"I mean, before... before you left. I shouldn't have let you go. I should have tied you up." A smile formed at the memory, the maester's eyes growing unfocused. "I fantasied about it..."

"Maybe... but I would have fought you considerably more back then."

"I know. That's why I didn't bother."

The room silenced. He could feel the swordsman's eyes on him, but he didn't want to return the gaze. His long body sunk back into the chair and he let the quiet night air whisper over him from the open balcony.

"You should have, but I still would have gone. Even if I'd known the truth, if we all had, I would have gone if Braska had." Auron's heavy clothing rustled as he shifted. "In truth... Our deaths weren't your fault. We would have gone anyway. I know we would have. Braska was never one to back down from his duty. No matter the consequences."

Seymour closed his eyes. Not his fault. The half-Guado wanted to laugh, but he knew Auron meant the words. "Auron..." He couldn't open his eyes. He couldn't look at the other man again. "I think it's time for you to go. All of you." He opened his mouth to call the guards outside, sure in the idea that the prisoners would suddenly find it considerably easier to escape their prisons. He would catch up with them again eventually.

"Seymour, don't," Auron growled, obviously trying to keep his voice away from a shout.

Silver eyes glared. "There is nothing more to gain from this conversation and you know it."

"I know, but..."

The glare softened as their eyes stayed locked. Finally, Seymour stood, walked over to Auron, knelt at his feet, and rested his arms and head in his lap. Forcefully slow, as his breath threatened to quicken, he inhaled Auron's scent. The guardian leaned forward and rested his forehead against Seymour's upturned broad shoulder and wrapped his arms around him. They sat like that for what Seymour hoped would be an eternity, though he knew it never could be. That wasn't their fate. But that would never stop him from loving the other man with every part of his soul he had left.

"I love you."

Seymour cried silently for the last time, something he no longer thought he could do. "I'll love you for eternity."

And that was the truth.


End file.
